Ghost Light
by Phantom Night Owl
Summary: Erik Reauchard aka Phantom, comes to Gettysburg, Pa. to search for a killer. He finds Christine Daae instead. When dangerous forces coalesce in the historic town, can he keep her safe?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera or Susan Kay's Phantom

A/N This is a modern Phantom story. This is my first, so please bear with me. I should have another chapter out by the end of the week.

Paris, France

He heard the man moving quietly in the darkness toward him; he was making very little noise, but Erik's acute hearing could pick up sounds that others couldn't. The man's clothing was making a minute rustling; he knew it was a man from the heavier tread of his feet; he was quiet, but not nearly enough. He waited for the right moment to strike, and it suddenly came when the man turned and headed toward the stage.

He moved quickly then and the lasso did its deadly work, settling around the man's neck, and cinching tight, but not enough to kill...not yet. The man struggled with the catgut knowing it was useless, but still he tried to get his fingers between it and his neck, the catgut cutting into his throat enough to bleed, making it resemble a gruesome type of ruby necklace. Tendrils of panic, along with the pain were taking hold rapidly.

"I realized rather quickly what you were about; you have followed me quite diligently these last few days." the Phantom hissed.

He tsked, and leaning further down, wagged his head putting his finger to his lips. "It would have been so much better for your health if you had remained a little quieter, mon ami. "I know who you are and the name of your employer. He has my undivided attention now, does he not?"

He smiled at the dying man, a smile that was as cold as the Arctic tundra. "But unfortunately, my regard has cost you your life."

The man renewed the struggle, only weaker this time; his bloodshot eyes bulging outwards... the fight to get air was almost spent. The Punjab was being applied with more pressure and death was very near; unfortunately for the man, his last sight were the deadly eyes of the Phantom. A flick of the wrist, a snap and it was done.

He bent down and slipped the lasso from the corpse, and turning said, "There was only this one in the building, daroga."

His business associate and sometime comrade, Nadir Khan, stepped into the faint glow from the stage's ghost light and looked down at the dead man. "He's been following us for quite a while."

"Yes." Erik straightened after wiping the Punjab clean, and slipped the lasso back inside his jacket.

"I'll take care of the body."

"Put it in the storage room at the end of the hall... I will dispose of it later. I'll be in the manager's office."

He left Nadir to his work and quickly walked to Moncharmin's office on the second floor of the opulent theatre. The shadows were thick, but he glided through them easily; dressed as he was in black, he merged with the darkness and soon he was standing in front of the door he was seeking. He removed the lock pick from his pocket and made short work of the door, opening it in mere seconds. He worked his particular brand of magic on the office safe, and finding nothing of interest there, he strode over to the desk and snapped on the lamp. Quickly, he began going through the drawers, nothing catching his eye until he reached the very bottom one. It was locked, but that never stopped him. He pulled the drawer out and began rifling through it. First thing he noticed was a flight itinerary. He was studying it when the door opened and Nadir entered the room.

"Find anything?"

The Persian looked at his friend. Erik's long, bony fingers grasped the itinerary and Nadir wondered for the hundredth time, how he could navigate his way through the world hampered by the black mask that covered most of his face, ending as it did, just above his nearly non-existent upper lip. It never ceased to amaze him, the self-imposed prison Erik lived behind.

He finally looked up at Nadir. "I have some traveling to do."

He indicated the paper with a flick of his finger. "This is for a town in the U.S. ...Gettysburg, to be exact."

He tapped the itinerary. "What is André up to now?"

The Persian looked thoughtfully at him. "His location may have something to do with the French president's visit after all."

"Do you think he's next, daroga?"

Nadir shrugged. "Perhaps. Wouldn't he be the most likely one? And to assassinate him on American soil would be most advantageous, don't you think?"

Erik nodded and picked up the calendar sitting on André's desk. He looked at a date and the name that had been circled in red ink. "At least now I do not have to waste my time looking for him. I believe I know where he's staying."

Nadir glanced at the name on the calendar, then looked at his friend. "Are you traveling alone?"

"Yes, I need you here for the moment. Visit Andre's apartment and see what you can find."

The Persian nodded. "Shall I get a charter flight readied for you?"

The masked man shook his head and prepared to exit the office. "If I leave by the end of the week, it will suffice." He committed the itinerary to memory and replaced it in the drawer. Snapping out the light, he moved toward the door, followed by Nadir. They walked quickly and silently to one of the side doors of the Garnier and slipped into the night.

"I will be in touch." said Erik softly.

Nadir watched him walk off into the waiting darkness, then turned and headed to his car. He wondered what his companion would find in Gettysburg. Hopefully, Allah willing, this would soon be over.

One could only hope.


	2. Chapter 2

Nestled in the Cumberland Valley with a distant view of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Gettysburg, in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, was a town charmingly stranded somewhere between 1863 and the present. Situated among rolling hills and neat, tidy farms, it was a sleepy village until the clash of two mighty armies in July 1863. The town itself sat in the center of a web of roads, the town being the hub, the many roads the spokes in the wheel.

Fairly close to Harrisburg, the state capital, and Washington D.C., the nation's capital, it was a tourist destination for those seeking scenic beauty and a history lesson at one and the same time. Tourism was big business for Gettysburg, had been since the first curious onlooker had wandered onto the battlefield after the departure of the exhausted and bloodied armies, and walked away with a musket for a souvenir.

Every year the town welcomed thousands from around the world. Gettysburg was always a busy place in the summer months; tourists drifted in and out of town on a regular basis until fall, then the town returned to a somewhat slower pace. Still, many found the autumn months a nice change from the much warmer days of summer. South-central Pennsylvania in July, could go from pleasant to sweltering in one day, becoming quite uncomfortable and the crowds made it even more so.

Famous site of the 1863 battle that finally started the Army of the Potomac on the path to eventual victory, it accommodated many history buffs and not a few aspiring ghost hunters. Because of the high number of deaths on those three, sweltering days in July spectral sightings had abounded, and stories had been told and passed down through the years until truth and fiction were nearly inseparable.

Ghost tours had sprung up in the town virtually overnight and had become a cottage industry. Books telling spooky tales of phantom armies and women in white abounded. Ghostly sightings were very popular with the tourists, and one of these friendly souls had just approached Christine's cash register, armed with the very latest books of battlefield hauntings.

She quickly zapped the items and gave the short, balding man the total owed. Once the transaction was finished, she glanced at her watch and turned to a small, dark haired young woman. "It's almost seven, Meg. I told Mama I'd be home soon to help her get the Buford apartment ready...the attic room is rented too; the new tenant is due in sometime this evening."

"Okay...no problem. We're fairly slow just yet. Look out though once we get into July." Meg grinned, and swiped at a lock of hair that had escaped from her pony tail. "This place will fairly hum by then."

"Don't I know it...I'll see you tomorrow for that breakfast I owe you."

Christine grabbed her purse from behind the counter and walked out the back door of the old building. The place where she worked three days a week, was a two-story former residence converted into a souvenir shop. It wasn't an original 1863 house, but the red brick building _was _old...at least 100 years or better. Meg had told her that sometimes at night, she could hear noises coming from the second floor. Working in the evening hours and having a vivid imagination, wasn't always a good combination, she thought.

She walked briskly down the sidewalk, pulling her sweater closer in the cool of the early evening. She reached the parking lot next to the tourist center and quickly located her gray Chevy Malibu. Christine unlocked the door and slid into the seat. Starting the car, she was just about to back out of the slot, when the engine faltered. Holding her breath, it gradually smoothed out and she continued backing up. Soon she was making a left on Baltimore St. and heading out of town. She ran a hand through her curly blonde hair, not sure what was going on with her car...it had acted up like that a few times already...maybe it would be a good idea to get it to the garage and have it checked. She would hate ending up stranded in the middle of nowhere on a dark, rainy night.

She took the shortcut over to Taneytown Rd., heading in the general direction of the Confederate battle lines; Mama Valerius's sprawling Victorian house was located on Confederate Avenue. Mama wasn't any relation to Christine, but she was very dear to her...she'd been the only mother Christine had ever known, since her own mother had died shortly after giving birth to her. Her father had been friends with the Valerius' for years, and she had grown up with them always being there to help Charles raise his daughter. Theo Valerius and Charles both had taught at Gettysburg College. Theo had succumbed to pneumonia five years ago...Christine had been there to help Mama through her loss, just as the older woman had helped Christine handle _her_ grief, when Charles had died two years ago from a heart attack. Both women had become even closer to each other, if that was possible and with her help, Christine had sold her parents' house and moved in with Mama.

Together they had turned the old house into a source of cash flow...small apartments on short-term leases, for people needing much less space to live in. Christine was a busy 22 year old helping Mama with the apartments, working part-time in town and she sang in the musicals and concerts at the local community theatre. She had gone to the Sunderman Conservatory and studied voice for two years after high school. Being on the Gettysburg campus and closer to her father had been ideal; he'd been happy at her choice of college and his encouragement had meant a lot to her. But after his death, her musical education had languished, and one thing leading to another, two years had passed before she realized it. Someday she hoped to resume, but for now her plate was full.

She finally pulled into the driveway and killed the engine of her car. She looked up at the house and smiled to herself...more gingerbread on that house than in one of Mama's cookies. It was a beautiful old house, with a pointed turret, tucked in one corner and a wraparound porch, with high backed rocking chairs and hanging baskets of feathery Boston ferns. Painted a buttercup yellow with white trim, it had seen the advancement of both armies in the first week of July 1863. Its floorboards had been soaked with the blood of men in the blue uniforms of the North and the butternut homespun of the rebel army of the South. Indeed, nearly every home standing at that time had been used as a temporary hospital for the suffering soldiers of both sides. The house was bordered by fields and woods, abutting a portion of the Gettysburg Military Park. It sat there on that long ago July 3rd day, surrounded by Lee's Army of Northern Virginia, before that army had stepped out in battle formation and been sent reeling back a mere hour later, chewed up and in disarray. Their nearest neighbor was Chagny and it was a quarter of a mile distant across the field behind the house.

She got out of her car, pausing as her eyes fell on a sleek, unfamiliar black car in the small parking lot next to the driveway, the windows of it deeply tinted. The new tenant, she thought. She started up the sidewalk toward the porch, the lights on either side of the entry doors, warm and bright in the gathering darkness. Opening the door, she immediately heard the voices; one being a man's deeper tones; she was surprised by the nervousness she heard in Mama's voice, and when her eyes took in the man standing with his back to her, she completely understood why. He was tall, but because of his thin build, he seemed to tower over poor Mama. His black suit was well cut and expensive looking, and despite his nearly extreme leanness, he wore it with a certain grace. But when Mama introduced him and he turned to Christine, that's when she forgot to breathe.

Standing with her in the quietly elegant foyer, was a man essentially with no face...instead, she was looking at a mask.


	3. Chapter 3

Christine swallowed nervously, all the while trying not to stare.

"This is our newest tenant...Mr. Erik Reauchard. He's just arrived from Paris. And Mr. Reauchard," Mama turned to her; "this is my daughter in all but blood...Christine Daae."

Christine hesitantly held her hand out and very slowly, the man grasped the tips of her fingers with a gloved hand, then quickly released them.

"Mademoiselle, the pleasure is all mine."

Erik looked at the young woman in front of him and was coldly amused by her reaction to him. She was nervous and it showed. A typical response to anyone meeting him for the first time, especially those of the opposite sex.

He observed her as the three of them stood in the foyer, the two women trying very hard to look relaxed and friendly, but losing the battle to his intimidating presence. She was petite and slender, with a curly mop of blonde hair that just touched the collar of her pale green shirt; with her lack of height, she came no higher than his chest. Her eyes were a light blue and at the moment they were fixed shyly on his face, or in lieu of any face, fixed instead on his mask.

She looked him in the eyes and was surprised at their strange color, the blackness of the pupils were startling against the amber color of the irises. Who has yellow eyes? she thought, but when he'd greeted her, his voice had surprised her even more. She thought she had never heard a more attractive male voice than his; it was a smooth tenor and it almost made up for his bizarre appearance.

Almost.

He continued looking at her; his eyes were strangely beautiful, but his stare was disconcerting.

Still, she managed to speak. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Reauchard. Uh...welcome to Gettysburg."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle."

His accent was light, with just a hint of his nationality; his English was impeccable. All the same, his voice was beautifully modulated.

They stood there, Christine still with a feeling of unreality washing over her at the presence in their home of a man wearing a mask.

Mama cleared her throat and indicated Erik's suitcases. "Grab your bags, Mr. Reauchard and Christine will show you the way to the Reynold's apartment." She smiled kindly at him. "All our rooms are named after generals who commanded the field during the battle."

Christine smiled at Erik. "Are you at all familiar with the Civil War, Mr. Reauchard?" She left the foyer and headed for the stairs to the left of the entry.

Erik smiled slightly and followed behind her up the stairs and into a wide hallway papered in white cabbage roses over a soft gray background, reminiscent of days gone by.

"Yes, I am quite familiar with your _American_ Civil War, although the United States most definitely wasn't the first country in the world to experience one, given its very short history." he said curtly.

Geez, what a grump, she thought. He really put me in _my_ place. "Uh, yeah...that's right. Who hasn't had a civil war at some point?"

He said nothing more and she led him to a door midway down the hall, and opening it, revealed a set of narrow wooden stairs.

"The Reynold's Apt. has the best view in the house of the battlefield. Uh...I'm sure you'll be very comfortable during your stay with us. There's quite a bit to do in your leisure time around Gettysburg." she said, smiling shyly.

Climbing the steps, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "If I may ask, is it business or pleasure that brings you here?"

"Yes, you may ask."

Christine waited for an answer and when she didn't receive one, she felt the blush creeping across her face.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." Oh yeah...definitely a grump. She would make sure to stay out of _his_ way while he was here.

She reached the top of the stairs and unlocked the door in front of her. Stepping inside, she turned to Erik and handed him the key.

"Mrs. Valerius has already told you everything you need to know about your stay with us...if you need anything else, please let us know. We'll be happy to help. So...um, enjoy your stay, Mr. Reauchard."

She turned to leave, glad to be getting away from this strange man.

With a sigh, Erik reached out and lightly touched her arm. "Business. I am here on business, Mademoiselle."

She nodded and giving him a hesitant smile, walked out, gently closing the door.

He threw the key on the small desk in front of the window and looked around the room. It was a very efficient set-up...apartment sized refrigerator and stove...table with two chairs, and in the alcove where the ceiling sloped, was a comfortable looking double bed. Not that he would be using it much; he didn't require the usual amount of sleep...he got by on very little.

The walls were painted a pale peach; the wood trim in white and the worn, dark oak floor was covered in colorful rag rugs.

Erik opened the door near the bed to reveal a small bathroom with a walk-in shower. He removed his mask and splashed water on his face, never once looking at himself in the mirror over the sink.

He dried himself off, then placed the damp towel over the mirror, hiding his image from sight.

Running his hand through his thin, black hair he walked over to the window, opening it to allow the cool breeze in. Reauchard gazed out over the fields surrounding the house and grounds to the woods beyond. He took out his cell phone and tapped in a number.

"I have arrived and I can see the de Chagny residence from my window."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Christine walked into the kitchen just in time to catch Lucy, Mama's black pug, pawing at the dish towel on the edge of the counter. Shooing her away, she grabbed the dog's dish off the floor and filled it with kibble. The little dog began eating as though it had been days since her last meal, which was far from the truth. Mama had a tendency to overfeed Lucy.

She went over to the stove and stirred the pan of soup heating there.

Mama sighed as she came through the doorway and went to the cupboard for some bowls. "Seems like we keep having supper later and later anymore."

She ladled the soup into the bowls, while Christine got some bread and put it on the table. Both women sat down and started eating.

"Did you know he wore a mask?"

The older woman paused, soup spoon halfway to her mouth. "No... I was as surprised as you were."

She buttered a slice of bread and tore off a piece, feeding it to Lucy, who was shamelessly begging.

"He explained to me that he has a disfigurement and the mask is necessary. I can't exactly break the lease because of it, now can I? Besides, he seems all right once you get over his appearance; never judge a book by its cover, Christine."

Mama wagged her finger at her...Christine merely rolled her eyes.

There was a light tapping on the kitchen door; Christine got up to answer it. "Bet that's Raoul."

She let him in and he made his usual fuss over Lucy.

She sat back down and Raoul took a seat too. "What have you ladies been up to today?"

Christine pushed her bowl away and grinned. "Aw, you know...my usual...tennis at the country club, a massage, and the rest of the day I lazed around the pool."

Raoul grabbed a piece of bread and popped it in his mouth chewing slowly. "Mm...sounds like you had a better day than me then; Phil has a guest who's been annoying as hell all day and my brother hasn't been much better. Can I bunk here for the next few weeks?" he asked hopefully.

Mama got up and took the dirty dishes over to the sink, bringing back a plate of gingerbread cookies. "Here Raoul, have a cookie...your favorite, and the answer is no. All the apartments have been leased. Our newest tenant arrived tonight."

"That would explain the black BMW in the parking lot. Nice wheels. What's he like?"

Christine looked at Mama and Raoul sensed the hesitancy in the glance. "So what's up, Chris? What'd he do, hit on you?" He looked at both women.

Mama shook her head. "Nothing like that. Mr. Reauchard unfortunately wears a mask to cover a disfigurement. It's unusual to say the least, but he seems harmless enough."

Raoul snorted. "Harmless? A mask? Huh! I'm not so sure letting him stay here is a good idea. I'd like to meet him; maybe he's hiding his face for some other reason...maybe he's on the run from the law."

Christine looked at her childhood friend. She didn't like the idea of Erik Reauchard being bothered by Raoul. "No," she said. "He's a paying customer and he's done nothing wrong, so leave him alone. Besides...don't you have to get back home and help your brother host?"

"Yeah...leave it to you to ruin the rest of my evening."

She laughed. "You're evening isn't ruined and you know it. You'll just go in your room, lock the door and turn the music up nice and loud."

He grinned back at her. "Think you know me so good, huh?" He got reluctantly to his feet. "Well guess what? You do, and I am. Happy?"

People had commented for years as the two of them grew up together, that they looked like brother and sister...both had blonde hair and blue eyes with open, friendly faces. They had dated on and off over the years and although Raoul seemed ready to take their relationship further, Christine always hesitated. She still wasn't ready to commit to anything more serious.

She smiled to herself; still waiting for Mr. Right...where was he hiding?

She went over and grabbed the leash hanging on the wall and bent down to hook it to the pug's collar. "Come on Luce, let's take a walk."

She went outside with Raoul; he stopped her in the back yard with a hand on her arm. "I'm serious Chris...you and Mama need to be careful around this Reauchard; he could be trouble. Not too many men I know of who wear a mask on any day other than Halloween...or a bank heist. It's just weird. Let me know how it goes with him, will ya? But what about me? This Moncharmin is a pain in the ass! He's nervous as hell and making my brother the same way. I don't know what's up with them, but maybe you can come over tomorrow and help put me outta my misery. We can maybe watch a movie or something. How bout it?"

"Sounds like a plan. If Mama doesn't need me, I'll be over with the popcorn. And uh, Raoul? Mr. Reauchard is okay; don't bother him, all right? He's not hurting anyone."

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say."

Chagny wasn't too far from them; Raoul had hiked over the field, so Christine walked a ways with him, letting Lucy have a run, before heading back home.

In the attic room, Erik stood near the window and watched her return.


	4. Chapter 4

He watched the girl enter the house, then went over to the desk and sat down; he needed to get to know her a little better...she might be of some use to him. After all, she was born and raised here; why not use her?

He thought about her shy smile and pretty eyes; he mentally shook himself. "Erik is a foolish man. Look, but never touch; he knows that damned well."

He stood wearily, and taking his violin out of the case, spent a few moments tightening the strings and putting rosin on the bow. Tucking the instrument beneath his chin, he began playing Pachelbel's Canon in D major.

Christine entered the kitchen and hung the leash back on its peg. Mama had already gone to bed taking Lucy with her. The women had their apartment on the first floor toward the back of the house.

Before she closed the door, she paused and listened. Faint music...a violin, and it was coming from above her; it could only be from Mr. Reauchard's room. Christine listened for a while longer, enchanted.

It was Pachelbel.

Her father had been a very good violinist, but by the sound of it, Mr. Reauchard was in a class by himself. She stood there and listened, eyes closed until the piece ended. Such a strange man, she thought and closed the door.

The next morning, she overslept, and dashed around getting ready, throwing on a khaki skirt and pink sleeveless blouse. She said goodbye to Mama and headed for the Avenue Restaurant and breakfast with Meg.

All day business was brisk at the store; she worked until five, then headed home and changed into some old clothes, helping Mama until it was time to leave for the de Chagnys'. Around seven, Christine showered, then armed with a list of things to get Mama at Walmart, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door. She noticed the BMW still parked in the same spot. Doesn't go out much, does he? she thought. Christine left the driveway and headed back into town toward York St. and Walmart.

It was almost dark and she finally noticed the build-up of clouds, making it even gloomier. "Rain for sure this evening; I'm gonna get drenched." she muttered to herself. She turned into Walmart's parking lot, pulled into a slot and hurried to get her shopping done. She could hear thunder rumbling, realizing she was probably going to get that drenching before she got back to her car.

She hurriedly turned down an aisle not really looking where she was going, and plowed into a large, red-faced man, knocking the basket of items out of his hands.

"What the hell? Look what you did!"

Christine, embarrassed, bent down to help him pick everything up, but he was too busy being a jerk. Over her apologies, he continued griping at her until she'd had enough of him.

"Hey...I said I was sorry, already! Maybe if you hadn't been standing in the aisle blocking it, it wouldn't have happened!"

"Where I stand in this dump is none of your damned business! Why don't you watch where you're goin'?" he snapped.

The man was tall and broad, and coupled with his nastiness, she was getting nervous; no one else had stepped in to help defuse the situation, preferring instead to watch and be entertained. She left him, still swearing, and walked quickly away. She paid for her items, still shaking from the confrontation and went out the door, relieved to be getting out of there. She reached her car, unlocked it and got in. Christine turned the key over; the engine started and then died.

"Damn it! This is just great!" She tried again...nothing. Getting out of the car, she reached into her purse for her cell phone...which wasn't there. What a day this turned out to be, she thought disgusted, and as she looked around and saw who was coming toward her, she realized it was just about to get worse.

"Aww...shit, that's too bad! Did the bimbo forget to put gas in her car, huh? You one of those dumb ass blondes, honey?"

The loud mouthed man stood over Christine ready to continue the fight started in the store.

Christine looked up at him, feeling her fright overtaking her anger...she just wanted to get out of there. "Look... I...uh, I don't want any trouble."

He was having fun now; he could sense her fear and it fed his ego. "Save it, sugar. I've seen your kind before. You think you're better..."

"Perhaps you would like to continue this conversation with me." a quiet voice said.

Erik had appeared from seemingly nowhere, walking up to the red-faced man and getting between him and Christine.

"If you have a problem, maybe _I_ can help you with it." he said smoothly, but the implied threat was clearly there.

The man was startled by what he saw in front of him; he wasn't very bright, but he had enough sense to realize that this was a dangerous man...one wearing a hat pulled low over what looked like...a mask.

Looking at that blank, emotionless covering over the man's face, and eyes that were truly frightening, he felt real fear for the first time in years.

Still, he was if anything full of bluster, and because several people stood nearby watching, he couldn't just let it go, even when every nerve in his body was screaming at him to do just that.

"This has nothing to do with you. I-I don't need you buttin' in...what the hell are you dressed for? Months yet 'til Halloween, moron."

Before the man got the last word out of his mouth, Erik had his hand around the man's neck, slamming him back against the car behind him. Christine gasped and took a step toward the two men. Erik applied pressure to the man's windpipe, just enough to get his undivided attention, then he slammed him against the car for a second time. He did this as if the man weighed nothing at all.

"I think it would be an excellent idea if you apologized to the lady, yes?" he hissed.

The man, by now shaking uncontrollably and very red in the face, nodded vigorously. He had never been an introspective man; had bullied and browbeat his way through many people, including his wife and kids. He was always angry at someone; the night before had left him broke after a late night poker game and too much to drink. He had been in a foul mood all day, spoiling for a fight.

The blonde woman had fit the bill nicely.

He hadn't expected help in the form of a masked demon to show up, but one glance at the thing wearing a suit and tie and he knew from looking into the feral, glowing eyes, that his death was near, and the strange man would lose no sleep over his demise. But Erik reluctantly released him and took a handkerchief out of his pocket, making a show of wiping his hands clean.

Looking at the frightened man, he tilted his head and regarded him. "Well? Have you nothing to say to the lady?"

Christine, now more than a little frightened herself, put her hand on Erik's arm. "It's fine Mr. Reauchard, really."

Erik tensed at her hand on his sleeve, surprised more than anything else and gave her a faint smile.

The blowhard just wanted this to end. The man in front of him was literally making him ill...freaking him out with those eyes. His throat hurt like hell and he was still trying to catch his breath; that thing had a grip like iron.

He licked his lips, swallowed and said, "I'm s-sorry miss." The man thoroughly cowed, turned around, not wanting to look at Erik again; he stumbled and on rubbery legs, quickly walked away.

The few spectators slowly dispersed, and Christine let out her breath, glad the ordeal was over. Erik fingered the man's wallet; he had lifted it quite easily from his back pocket. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do about the man's insolence; he had dealt with his kind many times over the years, but killing him might be a bit risky; after all, he was here on business and didn't need undue attention called to himself.

Christine turned to Erik and looked up at him. "Th-thank you so much, Mr. Reauchard. Ah...um...do you know anything about cars? M-mine won't start." she said shakily.

He took her by the elbow, and opening her door, helped her into the driver's seat. "I will see what I can do; in the meantime, you may as well stay dry; it is beginning to rain." She wound her window down as he walked to the front of the car, and popping the hood, leaned over, one long arm disappearing into the maw of the car.

His head appeared briefly around the edge of the hood. "Try starting it, Mademoiselle."

"Christine, Mr. Reauchard. I think you've earned the right to be on a first name basis."

She looked at him and again wondered, not for the first time, where this man came from...what he did for a living. She shivered, not understanding how she could be drawn to him and repelled at the same time.

Christine tried starting the car...nothing. She leaned her head out the window. "Find anything?"

Erik closed the hood and wiped his hands. "Yes, it is your spark plugs; that is why your car will not work. Allow me to drive you home, Christine; you may call a service truck from there."

She nodded, grabbed her purse and the bag from the store and locked her car. She joined him, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up against the rain which had started to pour. Once home, she would call Raoul and tell him about her crummy evening. Mr. Reauchard showing up when he did, was the one bright spot in all of it. For that matter, what _was_ he doing here? He didn't seem the type to shop at a Walmart. He was a curious man...it was safe to say, she'd never met anyone like him.

It was quiet in the car. The brief storm had ended and the rain had stopped; the air was washed clean, alive with the scents of early summer. Christine looked out her open window at the night sky; the clouds were rapidly disappearing and the stars were beginning to show through the overcast. She glanced over at her companion and watched as he fiddled with the radio; soon the strains of a violin concerto were pouring into the air around them, sounding so very sweet, it caused her heart to ache.

She nodded toward the dash. "You play beautifully. I heard you last night." She cleared her throat. "My father played the violin...I miss it a lot...I-I miss _him_." she said softly. "He died two years ago."

Erik looked at her sideways. "You were...close to him, no?"

Christine simply nodded and looked out the window. After a few minutes, she turned to him.

"Mr. Reauchard...I really appreciate your help tonight. That man...he was so obnoxious, and ...frightening. If you hadn't been there..."

"Erik...my name is Erik."

Soon they were pulling into the parking lot at the house and she turned to him before getting out of the car. "If I can be of any help during your stay, please don't hesitate to come to me, Mr...Erik. I owe you one."

He thought a moment, then decided there was no harm in asking. "Perhaps there is...I would like to hire a guide to show me the battlefield. Do you know where I can find such a person?"

She laughed. "Yep. You're looking at her."

"You wouldn't mind spending the day with me?"

Christine thought his eyes fairly glowed in the dim light. "I was born and raised here, Erik. I've been over the battlefield countless times, so yeah... I'd like to show you around."

She watched as he unfolded his long legs and exited the car and came around to her side. She looked up at him in the soft darkness and smiled. "I'll make a Civil War buff out of you before the day is over. Um...how about tomorrow? It's my day off."

"I look forward to it, Christine."

He followed her into the house, where they parted.

In his room he called Nadir. "I think an evening walk would be enjoyable. Perhaps visit an old friend."

"I went back to Moncharmin's apartment and I found something that could be meaningful. It's a date...July 3, of this year...it was in a notebook I found, and might or might not be important. It's not much, but that's all I have for now."

"Yes...well, perhaps Andre will know the answer, daroga. I think I'll go for that walk."

He pocketed his phone, turned off the light and exiting the room, locked the door. Erik quietly slipped from the house, moving like the ghost that he was known as, and staying in the darker shadows at the edge of the field, crossed it and came to the de Chagny house. He circled the mansion, coming to the back and immediately spied the yellow lamplight shining through a pair of French doors. He crept closer, knowing this might be the very man he was hoping to see. And it was. Better still, the doors were cracked open, letting in the cool night air and his means of listening in. Philippe de Chagny and André Moncharmin were seated in the room, a bottle of bourbon between them on the table.

"... told you already André, this is quite an honor for the town. It's not everyday the French president visits." Philippe took a sip of his whiskey. "My being on the welcoming committee, means I was able to push for my home to be the one chosen for the gala."

Moncharmin set his glass down and stood up. "I don't suppose the president will be attending?"

"Of course not; he'll only be making an appearance on the 3rd...the anniversary of Pickett's Charge. It's detante you see; makes our country and yours look like the best of friends...which isn't the case, is it?" he laughed. "Besides, the president has an actual interest in Pickett's Charge as you well know."

Moncharmin nodded in agreement and stifled a yawn. "Ah yes...the painting. It should keep him well occupied...from what you've told me, it's quite large. I'm off to bed, Phil. Bon soir."

Philippe bade André good night and walked over to the French doors. Opening them a little further, he stood in the doorway and inhaled the night air, thinking. It was odd, but a month ago André had called him and insisted on an extended visit with Philippe, citing his interest in the upcoming visit of the French president. What struck Philippe as curious, was the fact that he hadn't heard from André in a few years, then out of the blue he'd wanted an invitation for a long visit. They had never been close friends, had met when Philippe had attended the opera at the Garnier, where Moncharmin was manager. He didn't necessarily mind André's visit, but he did have a tendency to want to monopolize Philippe's time. He yawned and stretched tired muscles, already thinking of how busy his day would be tomorrow.

Erik shrank further back into the darkness, but de Chagny soon turned and locking the doors, turned out the light and left the room. Erik waited a moment, then picked the lock, slipping inside.

Moncharmin came out of the bathroom and got into bed, before plunging the room into darkness. No sooner had he... a cold, bony hand was placed over his mouth startling him.

"Now, now André, behave yourself. I will remove my hand if you keep quiet."

Moncharmin sat up and pushed back against the headboard, reaching for the lamp.

"Non, the light is much better off, don't you agree? No need for you to actually see the Phantom; you should only listen to him, no? You are aware of what I'm referring to, correct? Therefore, I will require your services...paid for quite well of course; far more than the paltry amount you are receiving now."

Erik leaned down, eyes glittering and intense. "Why were you having me followed, André? Do not deny it. I recognized him as being in your employ...he was a scene shifter at the Garnier, was he not?"

"W...was?" André stuttered.

"He no longer works there. I did not appreciate being watched by your man, so let us just say that I terminated his employment."

Moncharmin could only hope that he remained alive himself after Reauchard was finished with him. The creature thought nothing of killing, therefore he had no qualms about speaking. "I...I don't know who hired me, but they left an envelope in my office with instructions to watch your movements." He balled his fists at his sides, bracing for violence from the man, but Erik only chuckled, a sound that chilled his blood.

"And an envelope containing a significant amount of cash also, yes?"

"It was not personal you understand, merely a business transaction." he said weakly.

"Indeed."

Erik really would have enjoyed ending Moncharmin's miserable existence. He was a parasite, and more to the point, a parasite with a deplorable ear for good music. But he always had more use for him alive than dead. Moncharmin was to be his eyes and ears inside this house. He had realized long ago, that André Moncharmin was more than just the manager of the Palais Garnier; managing the opera house was merely a sideline for the mustached, rotund man. Due to his proximity to some of the world's most important people, he had been well paid for information supplied to the criminal underbelly of the planet. He was able to keep his own hands relatively clean, relying on a small army of thugs to do the dirty work, but Erik knew well that André worked for the one who paid the most.

He didn't trust him all that much, but Moncharmin had provided him with some very useful information over the years. He could keep him in line with threats and Andre's own greed...he had a lot of that.

"You'll be very adequately paid for your coöperation." The last was said gently, but with more than a hint of steel, leaving André no recourse but to agree. "Now my friend, what can you tell me, hmm? Does this have anything to do with the French president's visit next month?"

Moncharmin was frightened; he knew of this creature and what he was capable of. Right now, just looking at those hideous eyes beaming down at him, was the stuff of his worst nightmares.

"It's for the 3rd of July...the particulars I don't have as yet; the state department hasn't released his itinerary, but I assure you when I know, you will know."

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand, and quickly glanced up at the glowing eyes above him in the dark... eyes that simply regarded him unblinkingly, as a lizard might.

"But of course, dear André," and this was said softly. "But the question is..._how_ will I know?"

"I...I'll meet with you in a week's time. I'll know his itinerary in its entirety by then. Can you come back here, Friday at...uh, midnight?"

Erik regarded him a moment longer, then nodded. "I will however, expect information. Oh, and I _will_ be watching you André. Next time you select someone to keep me under observation, choose wisely."

Moncharmin assented and waited...and waited.

After a few minutes of this, he realized the Phantom was gone. He exhaled shakily and quickly turned his lamp on. He had known the futility of tailing Reauchard; had warned his employer of the danger involved. He only hoped that the Phantom would remain unsuspecting. He sat on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his disheveled hair, not looking forward at all to another meeting with the creature.


	5. Chapter 5

Christine came into the kitchen the following morning, ready to take Lucy outside for her walk. Usually the little dog was there with Mama, but today she was nowhere in sight. She walked into the communal parlor intent on finding the pug, when she came to a halt in the doorway.

There, his long body sprawled in the easy chair was Erik, with Lucy curled in his lap, man and dog asleep.

Lucy nearly blended in with his attire; he wore black exclusively...sometimes, he seemed more shadow than man.

She was about to leave quietly, when he opened his eyes; they glittered behind the eye-holes of his mask.

"Good morning, Christine."

She was charmed by the way he spoke her name...he put the emphasis on the first syllable of her name, and dragged the S out in a soft hiss.

He waved one thin hand at Lucy. "She was quite insistent on sleeping in my lap and would not take no for an answer."

He shrugged with an elegant lift of one shoulder and confessed to her, "Women have never gravitated to my lap; _She _has insisted on it and captivated me simply for that reason alone."

She laughed, a blush painting her cheeks red and walked over to Erik; bending over, she picked up Lucy and scolded her gently. "Some people don't appreciate you shedding all over their laps, Luce."

She glanced Erik's way again then said, "Come on out to the kitchen. Mama is fixing breakfast, and after we've eaten, we can leave. I have to call the garage about my car too."

"I have already taken care of that, Christine. I do not sleep for very long, so I took the liberty of repairing it myself earlier this morning. We can pick up your car whenever you like."

She was touched that he would do this for her and said so. She offered to pay him for the spark plugs and he declined.

"Consider it an exchange of favors; your car for my tour, yes?"

She nodded and looked at him impishly. "Okay...but that means, there will be no complaining or whining when you've decided the battlefield has lost its interest an hour into the tour."

Erik looked at her, highly indignant, then realized she was only joking. He was not accustomed to levity, but he could learn to like it, especially with this young woman.

After breakfast, which he refused, the two of them departed the house and headed to the Walmart parking lot. Erik left his car in the lot and Christine got behind the wheel of her Malibu. She pulled out onto York St., joining the line of cars and headed back into the center of town. She made her way around the small town square, or the _diamond_, as it was known locally, and drove out the Chambersburg Pike to the first day's battle near the site of the McPherson farm.

It was getting warm and she glanced over at her passenger. "Shall I put the air on? Um...forgive me for asking," and she hesitated, "but isn't your mask uncomfortable in this heat?"

She saw him stiffen and regretted saying anything at all.

"No." He said it coldly, with no room for further discussion.

There was a tense silence and Christine wished again that she hadn't said anything.

He realized her curiosity was normal, and perhaps she _was_ concerned with his comfort, but having lived all of his life with the horror of his face, he was averse to discussing it with anyone. Once the mask was mentioned, it was a short leap to wanting to know what it hid.

She pulled into the rest area on McPherson's Ridge and they got out of the car.

She indicated the road in front of them and said, "Two divisions of the Confederate army came down the Chambersburg Pike, and were met by General John Buford's Union cavalry. This is where the three day battle began...the most casualties of any battle fought on American soil. Fifteen thousand, to be more exact."

Thus began Erik's tour and by the end of the day...he was falling in love.

She was knowledgeable about the battle, but more importantly, she enjoyed her subject and they had a pleasant day, something entirely new for him. The unpleasantness in the car was forgotten for the time being. They made their way slowly around the battlefield, until around noon, they were on Little Round Top, site of the second day's vicious fighting, some of it hand to hand combat. They walked out onto the boulders at the edge of the hill and sat down, looking at the steep slope to their front and across to Devil's Den in the distance. It was early in the day and there weren't too many people about.

He was thankful for that; he would never be entirely immune to their stares.

She pointed out certain landmarks to Erik and gestured toward Devil's Den. "We'll be going over there in a little while; above those boulders, there's an old oak tree...it was here at the time of the battle."

She clasped her arms around her drawn up legs, nodding at the hill in the distance and the lone tree looming majestically above the giant boulders. "They're called witness trees, and there are about 200 of them scattered around the battlefield. Every year, disease or storms take more of them...to me, they're a bridge from this world all the way back to 1863. There are a few near our house on Seminary Ridge, but for some reason, I like that old geezer at the Den the best."

They were both silent for a few minutes, then Christine said softly, "Um...I used to come here a lot with my dad. I've often wondered...what was it like for them...the soldiers? Many were so young to have seen the horrors they did, and probably never forgot." She paused and looked at him. "And thousands died...violently and in great pain; I wanted to think that after all that suffering, they went to someplace better."

She looked outwards, beyond Gettysburg, to the distant Blue Ridge Mountains. "Hauntings have become a brisk business in Gettysburg. People claim to see ghost lights; uh...orbs of light, supposedly the souls of the dead in the pictures they've taken here on the battlefield. I kind of hope they are.

"I would hate to think that when we die...life just stops...the same way the curtain descends on the last act of the show...the finality of it...the lights go out. Then...it's over."

He was quite aware of the suffering of human beings; after all, _he_ had been the instrument of much of their pain and suffering. As for the souls of the dead, _well..._

Erik wanted to put his hand over hers, but couldn't bear to have her pull away in disgust; instead he settled for a slight smile. "Ah, but the light never goes _completely _out in a theatre, Christine. There _is_ a ghost light and in some cases...their very own resident ghost."

"Of course there is." she said, and smiled back at him. "I forgot the light on the stage."

To his great surprise, she reached over and squeezed his hand gently. "So maybe there is something more for us after all, huh?"

He stared at her hand resting lightly on his and said nothing.

He stood up, graceful as he was in all of his movements, then turned and hesitantly offered his hand to her. She immediately grasped it, and he pulled her to her feet; she looked up at him, her hand still held lightly in his cool one.

"You've been a great student today, Erik. You're a marvelous listener."

"Kudos to my teacher. She has led me to excel."

He smiled faintly, his thin lips and bony chin the only part of his face she could see.

He turned and looked once more at Devil's Den. "Your war is an excellent example of man's viciousness; something which I am more than familiar with."

He turned and headed for the car, Christine following. She could readily believe in his battles with cruelty and again she was curious about his face. She ended their tour of the battlefield at the site of Pickett's Charge. Erik was more than ready to call it a day; he had enjoyed his time with her, and was in no hurry to see it end, but this section of the military park was crowded with more people and their pointed stares were causing his anger to build. Christine noticed his grim silence and guessed correctly that he was becoming uncomfortable.

"The visitor's center isn't very far from here, and I wondered if you might be interested in seeing the Cyclorama painting of Pickett's Charge?"

She had his interest now, she could see. "It was painted in 1883 by a countryman of yours; it's really a wonderful work of art. Care to see it, Erik? It's housed in the visitor's center."

He opened the car door for her, then moved to the passenger side and got in. "Yes, I would like to see this painting, Christine, very much so."

She thought it odd the way he perked up after she mentioned the painting. It had seemed only a few moments ago that he'd had enough for the day. Christine drove over to Baltimore St. where the visitor center was located. She found a place to park and she and Erik went inside. It wasn't busy at all, much to his relief, and he gave her the money to purchase the tickets for the Cyclorama. He enjoyed art, so he was much taken with the work of Paul Phippoteaux and his ambitious rendition of the famous engagement.

"Did you know that your French president is a direct descendant of Phippoteaux? And there's talk of him coming to this year's anniversary of Pickett's Charge?" Christine asked him.

Erik said nothing, but continued observing the 360 degree painting that took up much of the large, circular room.

"Erik?"

Nothing.

"Hey, Erik? Did you hear me?"

He still didn't look at her, but finally turned, and with a hint of trepidation, asked her something she wasn't expecting. "Will you have dinner with me?"

She was all set to politely decline, but what came out of her mouth was, "Yeah, I'd like that."

They left the visitor's center and headed back to Walmart to get Erik's car.

"Seven o'clock, Christine. My apartment."

With a last look, he unlocked his car and got in. Christine started home wondering to herself why she had agreed to have dinner with him. There was the way he'd handled the confrontation last night in the parking lot. She had been very relieved to see him at first, but he had frightened her with the quick and deadly way he'd gone after the antagonistic hot head. He hadn't just put the man in his place; he had overreacted and gone for his throat. Still, he'd let the man walk away. Perhaps _she_ was the one overreacting. Today, for the most part had been enjoyable; Erik was an interesting and attentive companion. For now, she wouldn't worry too much about why she said yes; she _would_ however, admit to herself, that she enjoyed his company and leave it at that. She arrived home, and for the rest of the afternoon, she helped Mama with the day to day running of the old Victorian.

She was just about to go take a quick shower when the back door opened and Raoul stepped inside. "Hey, where you been all day? Mama said you were out with that freaky tenant of yours. Where to?"

He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes...he was annoyed. "Not that I _need _to tell you where I've been Raoul de Chagny, but it's no secret."

She paused and pushed her hair back from her face. She told him about the tour and spending the day with Erik, but she didn't have to confess how much she'd enjoyed it. Raoul sighed and shook his head.

"You know nothing about this guy, Chris. Why do you want to spend so much time with him?"

"If we thought he was so dangerous, do you think Mama and I would let him stay here? He asked me if I knew someone who could show him the battlefield and I volunteered.

"No harm, no foul, Raoul."

Christine was getting upset with him; it wasn't his business who she went out with and quite honestly, he was starting to sound jealous. Raoul took a deep breath and smiled again, this time a little warmer.

"Okay, okay...sorry for stepping on your toes. I'll behave. How bout the Pub for some supper?"

She wasn't sure what to say; telling him about her dinner plans with Erik didn't seem like a good idea, but Mama saved the day. "Christine promised to help me around here, Raoul. It's going to be another late supper for us."

Mama smiled at him while she was getting Lucy's dinner ready. Raoul gave in gracefully and turned to leave.

"Maybe I'll see you tomorrow; I've got some things to discuss with you. I'll call you, okay?"

After he left, she turned and looked curiously at the older woman. "What did you want done?"

Mama laughed and said, "Even if I had work for you, how are you going to do it, when you'll be eating dinner with Mr. Reauchard this evening?"

"How did you know that?"

Mama took a bag of green beans out of the fridge and put them in a bowl.

"Because I spoke with him a while ago, and he told me he had invited you. That was nice of you today. He was very appreciative."

"Oh."

"Christine, it's fine. Run along and get ready. I don't suppose if it was me having dinner with Mr. Reauchard, that I'd want to keep him waiting very long."

She left the kitchen and dashed to the bathroom. It was nearly 6:30 already; she hurriedly showered, and decided on a paisley pencil skirt, black tights, and a mulberry shirt. She blow dried her errant curls, dabbed on a little perfume and she was ready. She was quite proud of herself; she was nearly out of breath, but right on time. Now to see what Erik had prepared for supper.

He was surprising her yet again.

She arrived at his door and knocked lightly. She was slightly nervous and not really sure why. He opened the door and greeted her in his beautiful voice.

"Christine...please, come inside."

She handed him a container filled with gingerbread cookies, and walked inside the tiny apartment.

"Uh...I hope you like gingerbread, Erik. Mama insisted I bring them."

"Thank you. Please...have a seat."

She sniffed appreciatively at the wonderful smells in the room, realizing all of sudden how hungry she was...she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She sat down on the small couch near the table and watched him. He had removed his suit jacket, and had the sleeves of his crisp, white dress shirt rolled to the elbows. He was so thin that the shirt was almost too large for his frame. He went back to the kitchen area and uncorked a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, then turned to the stove.

"Erik, can I help with anything? Everything smells wonderful."

He shook his head, filling their plates with chicken and mushroom crepes and placed them on the table, along with a salad and a crusty baguette. He motioned Christine over to the table.

"Mademoiselle, if you will have a seat, s'il te plait."

He then poured the wine into glasses and sat down with her. Everything was delicious, and she relaxed and enjoyed herself. Erik rose and put their empty plates in the sink and made coffee.

"I hope you like strong coffee, Christine, or tea if you prefer."

She accepted the coffee, and as the night deepened, they talked as only two people getting comfortable with each other can. He poured them more wine, and showed Christine some magic tricks. He palmed a red rose seemingly from thin air, and handed it to her. She put the flower to her nose and inhaled.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" (What is this?)

He had reached behind her ear and with his thin, nimble fingers, revealed a gold coin.

"Oh, it's beautiful!"

He handed it to her and explained what it was she was holding.

"It is an Achaemenid Daric coin, minted somewhere around 490 b.c."

He swirled the wine around in his glass and took a sip, then pointed with one long finger.

"The figure on the coin is a Persian king, holding his bow and arrow. The coins were introduced by Darius the Great, and used until the invasion of Alexander in 330 b.c. Alexander of course, wanted no other image but his own on the coins, so he had them melted down and recoined. Obviously some of the pre-Alexander coins survived."

He looked at her and shrugged. "You gave me my history lesson today with so much passion for your subject...consider this my way of saying thank you." he said quietly.

She didn't know what to say, except to thank him in return. She looked at the gold coin in her hand, then looked up at the man sitting across from her.

"So...have you been to Iran?"

"Yes," he said flatly, with no embellishment and she questioned him no further.

She already knew not to press him when it was obvious he wanted to change the subject. She was beginning to read him very well without actually seeing his face.

"I will treasure this always. Thank you." she said softly.

Then before she could think about it too much, she rose from her seat, and going to him, she leaned down, putting her hand on the side of his neck and kissed his masked cheek. Erik stiffened as she leaned down, not realizing until that moment, how a simple touch could feel so nice.

Christine straightened, her cheeks pink and said, "Let me clean up for you; it's the least I can do after that wonderful meal."

Refusing her offer, he poured more wine, settling her on the little couch and getting his violin, he played a few of his favorite pieces for her. Romani music he had explained to her; _The Lark _and _Remember Bahari, _were full of passion and rhythm, much like what she'd always imagined the colorful gypsies had in plenty, She could watch and listen to him play all night and never tire of it. Christine observed him as he swayed to the music, his eyes closed in concentration, hearing the notes in his head as only _he _could. To her, watching him in his element, he was beautiful. His long fingers, working the bow across the strings, smoothly and delicately, but always with passion and great skill, was fascinating. He didn't just play the music...he felt it in his very bones.

When the impromptu concert was finished, she got up and approached him. "Wow! That was fantastic! My father would have been inspired by you. Lots of people would love to have your talent, Erik...you must have music in your soul."

Everyone starts life with music...the first beat we _hear_, is the cadence of our mother's heart inside the womb." He paused and looked at her, his eyes sad.

She impulsively reached for his hand and held it pressed between hers. "Where did you learn to play so exquisitely?"

"It was the one thing my mother _did _offer me...music." he said shortly. "I was given lessons on the piano and violin at an early age, and became good at both, eventually surpassing my teacher."

He gently pulled away from her and put his violin back in its case, then raked his hand through his thin hair, sighing. "Music has been my only joy in life, Christine."

This was said with no hint of self-pity...simply a statement of fact, nothing more.

She walked over and sat on the couch again, patting the space beside her. "Come and sit for a while."

He hesitated a moment then sat down, leaning forward with his arms resting on his bony knees. Christine watched him, noticing a certain nervousness in him. She looked at his long limbs and capable hands, sensing the melancholy in this odd man. They talked a while longer; she asked him about his work, and he told her he was a real estate developer for French businesses trying to locate in the U.S. The lie came easily to him; not that he wanted to lie to her, far from it, but he had no choice. She told him about her work at the Majestic Theatre and how she enjoyed singing, which led to a discussion of opera and their favorites.

Erik noticed her enthusiasm and said, "If you should ever find yourself in Paris, Christine, you must go to the Opera Garnier."

"Do you go often yourself?"

He chuckled, and the sound was so rich and dark, it sent shivers up her back.

"You could say that. Yes...you could say that I live there, almost." He chuckled again.

"Uh...I hope someday to make a trip to Paris and of course I would love to see an opera while I'm there."

He didn't want the evening to end.

"This has been great, Erik. I've enjoyed myself very much."

And she had. She felt shy again around him; he tended to bring out different emotions in her in the space of just minutes. His strange eyes flashed at her; in certain light conditions, they were nearly feral.

"Christine, I...I would like to see you again."

"Yes...this was nice." she said softly and smiled.

She still had reservations about him, whether it was the mask, or how little she really knew of his life, Christine wasn't sure. But he touched a chord in her that left her confused and satisfied at one and the same time. She got up from the couch and he stood as well; she felt tiny standing beside him, but with Erik near, odd as it was, she felt safe. She by no means considered him harmless; she knew he could be frighteningly quick and violent, but she never felt as if it was directed at her. He was someone who demanded respect and received it.

He walked with her to the door and wished her a good night.

He hesitated a moment, then slowly reached for her hand, watching her face for any sign of fear, and brought it to his lips; she held her breath, mesmerized by the gesture. When he released her hand, it tingled where his mouth had been. She let out her breath and wished him a pleasant evening.

He closed the door gently and leaned against it for a moment. Then walking over to the desk, he removed his mask, and dropped it on the surface. He wearily rubbed his face and sighed. For 38 years, he had essentually been alone; women for the most part, didn't cross his path much... he had never felt before what he was feeling now for Christine Daae.

It confused him.

She wasn't afraid of him...well, not very much. Most women were intimidated by the mask and his cold demeanor. He felt himself warming up to Christine; he had hungered for someone to care for him, even just a little; his own mother certainly hadn't. The day he had left home for good, was at the tender age of twelve; trying to live among the denizens of the Paris slums had not been easy. Wearing a mask had not ingratiated him to the pick pockets or prostitutes living in the back alleys.

Nevertheless, he had learned tricks of the trade from some of these very people; sleight of hand had served him well and eventually he had joined a traveling fair moving from town to town across a good portion of Europe, performing magic and singing to earn money. Occasionally, he worked the crowds in a different way, deftly removing wallets from pockets and purses of unsuspecting fair-goers. The throngs of people had especially loved his beautiful and beguiling voice, bringing many to tears before the last note died away into silence. But the most unforgettable part of his act was the unmasking of his face, set at the very end of his song.

The sight of his skull-like visage, coupled with his heavenly voice, had shocked many and stirred others to scream in horror.

One muggy afternoon at the fair in Nijni-Novgorod, Nadir Khan had arrived with an appeal to Erik to accompany him to Iran. The Shah, having heard of Erik's feats of legerdemain, had wanted him to perform in his court. Erik had also suspected that curiosity over his face had a large part in the Shah's wish...word had spread of the death-like nature of it. Once in Iran, the Shah had made use of his ability with the Punjab lasso, and Erik had begun his career as a political assassin.

By the time he was 22, he was dangerous and deadly, no longer working in the Middle East exclusively. Killing for a living, had become second nature to him and paid well. He had been able to amass a small fortune in no time at all. Morally, he became bankrupt, but deep inside, was a kernel of decency which had never been allowed to grow.

He was highly intelligent and sensitive, with an eye for the beauty available in the world at large, but that part of him had been tamped down far too many times, beaten out of him, and what had emerged, was someone entirely different. Known as the Phantom, he was given work that others wouldn't touch. His fame spread in the underworld and also the danger of Erik becoming the hunted. He had become a liability to many of his employers...he simply knew too much.

The time had come for a career change, and when the opportunity presented itself, he took it. Now he needed to focus on what he was sent here to do, but things were becoming more complicated than they ever had. In the past, difficulties in his line of work were a given, but this was different; he felt protective of the girl. He was in Gettysburg for a reason, one that didn't include falling in love.

But that was exactly what he was doing.


	6. Chapter 6

Christine walked into the kitchen the next morning and got herself a cup of coffee. Just as she was grabbing the dog leash from the peg by the door, her phone rang. It was Raoul.

After getting the morning pleasantries over with he said, "How about coming over... I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure, in a little while. I'm going to walk Luce and get some breakfast, then I'll see you, okay?"

She stuck her phone in a pocket of her jeans, wondering what was so important, then she took Lucy for her walk, letting the little dog explore her surroundings. She relished the warm feel of the day and the smell of fresh cut grass heating up under the morning sun. She looked toward the parking lot beside the driveway; Mr. and Mrs. Dillard were getting into their red Ford, another day of sightseeing, no doubt. She waved at them...with a flutter of hands, they waved back and pulled out of the parking lot. She was just about to turn around and head for the field with the pug in tow, when she watched Erik walk out and get into his car; not seeing her, he left the lot and headed toward the Fairfield Rd. She thought again about last night and the old coin he'd given her; she would have it put in a setting at the jeweler's and made into a necklace.

After their walk she had some breakfast, then set off across the field to Chagny.

Raoul and his brother Philippe lived in a large, rambling house of no formal design. It had been in their family for years, ever since the first de Chagny graced America's shores in 1883. It had many different architectural influences, Georgian being the foremost. It was a graceful old home, built early in the 19th century, and was mostly a mellow red brick. Over the years, additions had been added, giving the home an eclectic, but pleasing to the eye design. Somewhere along the way, it had gone from a simple farmhouse, to a mansion of dramatic proportions.

Raoul came around the side of the house and walked over to give her a hug. "Bout time you came over for a visit."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her over to a grouping of lawn furniture under some pin oak trees.

Christine pulled her hand from his and sat down in a chair.

"All right, so uh...what did you want to talk to me about?"

Near the front of the house, perched on a lawn tractor, the gardener made another pass in his mowing, the rich scent of the grass reaching them.

"What did you do last night for fun?"

He sat down beside her and leaned back in his seat. "And don't tell me you were with What's His Name."

She looked at him unsmilingly. "Okay, I won't, but for your information, it's none of your business if I _was_ with him."

"I thought it was, Christine." he said quietly. "We used to be closer than this."

She shook her head. "If you remember, we decided to cool it a little bit. _You_ even had a few dates with other women if I recall."

He waved his hand nonchalantly. "They didn't mean anything though;_ you_ pretty much insisted on it, but you seem intent _now_, to go on pity dates with freaks in masks."

She stood up quickly. "Uh...I think it's time for me to leave. I'm a little tired of you denigrating a man you don't even know."

Raoul took her hand. "Sorry again," though it was obvious he wasn't. "The guy just sounds creepy. He tugged on her hand. "Sit. I'll be good...promise."

She sat down again and sighed. "All right...so what did you want to tell me?"

Raoul sat forward, arms on his thighs. "You are being invited to the party my brother is putting on... how about that?"

He was all smiles now; clearly, he thought this was something she would be excited about. "It's a masquerade ball, Christine. You can dress up as anything you want."

"When is it?"

She worked up more enthusiasm for him and put a smile on her face. It _could_ be fun, she thought, if only a certain masked man was going too.

"It's set for July 2nd. It's in honor of the Phippoteaux painting, _and_ the French president. He won't be there of course, but it'll be fun anyway."

Christine looked off across the distance, noticing the build up of clouds and the small gusts of warm wind, then turned to her friend. "I would love to come...I accept."

It was nearly on the tip of her tongue to ask him if Erik could come too, but knew _that_ would be a bad move. He went in and got them some iced tea and they sat there under the trees, talking as they used to about everything and nothing.

She stood up an hour later and glanced at the sky again. "I better take off... looks like it might rain soon."

He offered to drive her home, which she declined.

Raoul reached out and gave her a hug. "Still friends?"

"Sure we are." She hugged him briefly and with a wave, started back across the field.

By the time she got back to the house, it was still cloudy, but no rain. She walked through the kitchen door and almost immediately heard the piano music; at nearly the same time, she spied the note propped up against the vase of daisies on the table. The note was from Mama. She had gone with her friend Helen to Thurmont, Md. for lunch.

And now, Christine thought, who's playing my dad's Steinway?

Her mother and father bought the piano early in their marriage; both had played and enjoyed evenings singing around it with friends from the college. After Christine's mother passed away however, the piano fell into disuse, only being played occasionally.

Until now.

She went into the parlor, loving the sounds being coaxed from it. _Last Date_ was one of her favorites. It was Floyd Kramer's popular piece in the slipped note style he made famous with the song.

She knew who the pianist was before she saw him. Erik sat there looking right at home, graceful hands stroking the ebony and ivory keys as a man would stroke a lover. He turned and looked at her, never ceasing in his playing. He nodded, indicating the bench. She walked over and sat down beside him, mesmerized by his long, pale hands and the beautiful melody. The piano was slightly out of tune, but still sounded wonderful; it should, it was being played by a master musician.

They sat side by side; it felt curiously intimate with their thighs touching. The song ended, and as the chords died away, Erik put his hands in his lap and quietly waited for her to speak.

"That was lovely. Is there _any_ instrument you _can't_ play well? And where did you learn that particular song?"

There was so much she wanted to learn about this man...she didn't know where to begin, and he wasn't always forthcoming. He chuckled and started playing another tune; it was light and airy, unknown to her.

"I already told you Christine, music has always been important to me. As to your second question," and he paused, looking sideways at her with a slight smile, "we do get sheet music from America once in a while."

She blushed. "I just always thought of you in a more operatic style of music...more classical, less mainstream."

He chuckled again, which she loved to hear. "Mostly opera," he agreed, "but I find many different sounds and rhythms can be enjoyed."

He segued from the melody he'd been playing into the introduction in E flat, to one of the loveliest songs ever written, in Christine's opinion. She was blown away when he began singing the lyrics in his excellent tenor. She closed her eyes and let the luscious timbre of his voice wash over her.

The words were rich and full of emotion...from that moment on, _Bridge Over Troubled Water, _by _Simon _and _Garfunkel, _would always remind her of Erik. His tonal quality was black velvet...soft and darkly enticing; a powerful instrument that she had never heard the likes of, living or dead.

She shivered at the pure sound, and unconsciously leaned closer to him.

His voice was doing strange things to her nervous system; her emotions ran the gamut; great joy, sadness, hope...and the realization that she wanted to join _with_ him...her bell-like tones and his, twining around one another, sensuous and sultry, reaching heights never dreamed of...Christine trembled, and with a start, opened her eyes.

The song ended in a dramatic finish, and so too his magnificent voice on that last powerful, drawn out note.

The last chords died away and she realized that she was breathing hard and her cheeks were wet with tears. She could only sit there in silence, wondering at this man's vast talent...the beauty created from his fingertips and voice, juxtaposed with his very strange appearance.

Erik's hands still rested on the keys, thin and delicate looking, but she knew that was a deception; they were actually quite strong and very capable.

Finally he turned to her and smiled crookedly in a way that she found strangely charming.

Still in awe of his skill, she smiled shyly at him. "I think I could listen to you all day long. You're wonderful...my father would have loved you too."

She blushed after she said it, unsure as to why it had come out of her mouth that way. He noticed her embarrassment and said gently, "I know how you meant it, Christine."

Very carefully, he reached out a thumb and wiped away a tear.

"The piece has a majestic sound to it...nearly religious in tone and feel," he said. "It can be very emotional. Wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded and gave him a watery smile. "The way you perform it, it is. I've always loved the song...it gives me a feeling of hope."

Among other things, she thought ruefully, especially with _him_ playing and singing the vocals. She paused, looking at her hands.

"You were incredible, Erik." she whispered.

She was swinging her legs, sitting at the piano, much like a child would do, an action that he found amusing. He gestured toward the keys with one thin hand.

"Do you play, Christine?"

"A little, but nowhere near the level my father played, and most definitely not in your league."

She leaned forward and reached for the sheet music on the stand, grasping it, but not firmly enough. The sheets fluttered to the floor and at the same time, they both leaned down to gather them up, heads coming close together in the process. Slowly they sat up, never taking their eyes off of the other.

He released the music into her hand, fingers brushing against hers. His long, cool fingers gently grasped hers and he leaned in toward her, his eyes glowing. Christine couldn't look away from him; she felt mesmerized...trapped in that yellow gaze. With some difficulty, she dropped her eyes from his, and instead focused on their joined hands.

Hesitantly, she turned his hand over and ran a finger across the calloused pads of his fingertips. His hands were actually beautiful...long and graceful, well made for the purpose of creating art through music.

He _was_ an artist, she thought, only his canvas was the piano and violin.

She was inadvertantly leaning in toward him too, feeling a need that was fast overwhelming her senses.

Erik was having his own moment of discovery; when she had touched his hand, it had been an electrifying moment for him.

No one had ever _willingly_ touched him in a gentle way; he had always been treated as something to be kept apart from most of humanity. Something to be scorned...beaten...rejected, until his self-preservation and cunning had taken over, and he had learned to fight back. But with this young woman he felt for the first time as any man would, albeit a cautious one.

He looked at Christine with wonder, his hope for a woman's touch...no...for _this_ woman's touch, rekindled and alive once more. He leaned in even closer, waiting inevitably for her to pull back in horror. He wasn't quite sure what he would do if she _didn't_ move away, therefore his movements were slow and deliberate, nearly shy. Erik looked at her mouth then, wondering if she would let him kiss her.

_Just one small kiss..._

"Well, well...what have we here?"

They broke apart and looked over at Raoul standing in the doorway. He walked forward, stiff legged, acting more like a junk yard dog spoiling for a fight, than her childhood friend.

"What's going on, Christine? And who the hell is this?"

He said it with his teeth clenched, and with an uncharacteristic sneer on his face, knowing full well who it was. Christine looked at Raoul nervously and stood up, but not before Erik had already gotten to his feet, and with surprising speed moved over to stand practically nose to nose with him.

"What makes Christine _your_ concern?"

He said it quietly, but she heard the cold rage beginning to build in Erik's voice. He dwarfed her friend, drawing himself up to his full height, working on intimidating the younger man with his 6 ft. 3 inches.

"Being a lifelong friend of hers _makes_ it my business, and the very fact that you slink around hiding your face sure as hell doesn't help!"

Raoul would later wonder to himself why he was acting this way, but never being the introspective type, he didn't realize that his primary reason was jealousy. He would never have suspected it; not in a million years would he have thought Reauchard was worth that emotion. He was jealous of a man with no face, a man whom Christine held in some regard.

Ridiculous.

So he reacted, but with no insight into his reasoning, but more importantly, no insight into his adversary.

"Which are _you_...running from the police, or a coward hiding from the world?"

Erik's hand shot out, and his cold fingers wrapped around Raoul's throat, twisted lips pulled back from his teeth. Christine gasped, and yelled Erik's name, frightened at this turn of events. She quickly walked over to the two men, grabbing Erik's arm, and giving it a frantic tug, knowing how volatile he could be.

"Please, Erik...it's okay. P-Please let go of him!"

He ignored her, instead choosing to answer Raoul.

""Cowardly, you ask? I fear, boy," he chuckled coldly, "that you would not wish to find out what cowardice truly is."

The sound of that beautiful voice chilled her to the bone. This was someone completely different from the gentle man who played and sang for her...the man she nearly kissed...

With a horrifying strength, he lifted Raoul into the air, seemingly intent on choking the life from him. The young man struggled, his legs kicking out, trying desperately to connect with the madman, his arms windmilling around, looking for something to hit.

Still hanging on to Erik's arm, Christine pleaded nonstop with him, desperate to stop this nasty turn of events; through the red haze of anger, he finally became aware of her, and quickly he removed his fingers from her friend's neck, backing away and fighting for control.

When he had been released so suddenly, Raoul had dropped bonelessly to the floor and grabbed his throat, wheezing and coughing painfully, trying to pull enough air into his starved lungs.

Christine knelt next to her friend, putting her arms around him, both of them shaking badly. She turned to Erik, not really sure what she was about to say, but he was gone. She felt bereft at that moment...the sweetness she had felt earlier, replaced with shock and horror at how quickly things had gone wrong.

She helped Raoul to his feet and moved with him over to the couch. She sat there, her arm still around him.

"You...you need to see a doctor. Let me drive you to the emergency room."

He shook his head and rasped, "I'm okay...I think. It hurts like hell, though."

He tenderly rubbed his throat. She stood up intending to get him some water, when he grabbed her arm.

"Wait. Sit down for a minute." he rasped.

He coughed again and swallowed painfully. She took Raoul's hand, her heart still trying to pound its way out of her chest.

He let out his breath and said hoarsely, "Now do you see what I'm talking about? The man is obviously hiding from someone or from something he's done. He's dangerous, Christine; we sh-should call the police, and get him away from here."

He turned to look behind him, almost expecting the madman to be advancing on him again.

"No."

She was as surprised at what came out of her mouth as Raoul.

"What do you mean, no? He tried to strangle me to death! Don't you consider that a little _insane?"_ He felt on shaky ground now, but said it anyway. "Are you... protecting him?"

His voice was a croak, and the pain in his throat caused difficulty with speech.

She jumped slightly at that. "Of course not! How can you even suggest such a thing? But you _did_ say things to him that started all of this."

He was flabbergasted. "Shit, Christine...I'm so sorry I ruined your tender moment in there, and hurt his feelings! Guess I _did_ deserve to be throttled for that._"_

"Raoul...you _know _I didn't mean it that way at all!"

She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly.

She spoke a little quieter. "What were you here for in the first place?" She still felt breathless and frightened.

"I was on my way into town and stopped to ask if you wanted to come along."

He looked at her disgusted. "I can't believe you're defending what he just did. If you're not concerned about me, then at least consider Mama. He really shouldn't be here, and you know it!"

"I'm not justifying what he did, but I uh...I need to talk with him first."

She sighed heavily and put her hand on his arm. "Please...let me handle this. He's been a complete gentleman since he arrived. I don't understand what happened between you two, but please let me speak to him before you do anything. Okay?" she pleaded with him.

"Please?"

Raoul continued looking at her, not understanding her defense of Reauchard...certainly not agreeing, but finally he nodded in defeat.

"All right, I won't do anything just yet. I sure hope you know what you're doing."

He paused a moment then said, "I don't know what was going on with you and..._him_, but you had better think twice about getting involved with _that." _

She still felt defensive of Erik and had to reply.

"You know nothing about him, Raoul. He did overreact, but I think that's from years of people treating him as if he's subhuman. He's far from it."

'You don't know all that much about him either, Christine."

Raoul was about to say more, then finally admitted defeat...for now.

She walked him to the door, still insisting he needed to see a doctor. She watched him leave, pondering what her next move was to be, at the same time moving toward the stairs.

Very well. Time to beard the lion in his den.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX 

Erik left the two in the living room, silently making his way to his apartment. He was still angry and frustrated at the way things had turned out. He unlocked the door and glanced wildly around, wanting nothing more than to break something. Instead, he walked over to the couch and sat down, putting his head in his hands.

His outburst had probably cost him Christine's regard; he very much regretted that. He was angered by de Chagny's contempt for him; he had always maintained his dignity, no matter what; to be looked down on by a mere boy, and called a coward in front of the girl, was more than enough to stir his anger, but what had brought on his temper the worst, was the opportunity that had been taken from him.

A kiss.

Something so simple to most men, but always a world away for him. But the miracle in all of this was that she seemed to like him too. It was a sweet moment for him to realize this and in an instant, it had been lost by that imbecile and now she would never forgive him for attacking her friend.

He had been very close to feeling her lips on his; he had _wanted_ it very much, and as always luck strove to point out that it had _never_ been on his side. Something very important had been stolen from him, and he really didn't think that it would be his now, for _she_ wouldn't want to be anywhere near him.

He removed his mask, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then tiredly he pulled out his phone and tapped in the Persian's number.

"Daroga," he greeted Nadir. "I will be seeing Moncharmin again on Friday, but I sense nervousness on his part, more so than would be caused from my presence alone; I don't trust him. Anything you can tell me?"

"Nothing whatsoever, Erik. It's been as quiet as the tomb on this end. I'm sure Moncharmin is just afraid of you, my friend. What's wrong? You don't sound well."

He was about to reply, when there was a soft knock on the door. "I must go. I will let you know of my visit with Andre when I'm through with him."

"Erik?"

It was Christine, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to speak with her at the moment; it was certain to be painful.

"Please Erik, can I talk to you? It's important." Her voice held a pleading note that he couldn't withstand.

Replacing his mask and opening the door, he stood aside to let her in.


	7. Chapter 7

Christine walked past Erik and stopped near the table, looking at him nervously.

He closed the door and turned toward her, hands on narrow hips, head tilted. He waited for her to speak, feeling the dread pooling in his stomach at what she was about to say.

She sat down on the only easy chair in the room. She was anxious about this visit; it was a far cry from her last time here. Erik took a seat on the couch facing her, lacing his fingers together and silently cursing de Chagny for ever showing up.

"Um...Erik, I know R-Raoul had no business saying those things to you. He was rude and obnoxious."

She paused and took a deep breath.

"But you had no right to attack him the way you did. You could have hurt him badly. As it was, I had a hard time convincing him not to call the police."

Her words surprised him and he looked at her hopefully.

"Why did you even try?" he asked softly.

"Because...because I..." she huffed agitated.

She didn't _know_ why she had stopped him.

"Please Erik...please promise me that it won't happen again. Raoul thinks you're a danger to Mama and me."

He felt inexplicably sad that she would think he could _ever_ harm her.

He got up from the couch and knelt in front of her, gently taking her hands. "I would _never_ hurt you, Christine." he said quietly.

"But I have to wonder at your friend. If he was so worried for your safety with me, why would he leave you alone for one single minute thinking I was a danger to you?"

Why indeed? she thought.

He rubbed his thumbs across the backs of her hands, marveling at how right they felt in his.

"I am truly sorry that I lost my temper. For what it is worth, I will not do so again." he vowed.

Snapping the boy's neck still seemed like an excellent idea though... but it would upset _her._

She stared at their joined hands, until finally she looked up at him, suddenly wishing more than anything that she could see his face. Looking into his strange eyes, she noticed for the first time how deeply set they seemed to be in their sockets.

Odd.

He was watching her with an intensity that was causing butterflies in her stomach.

Erik removed his hands from hers and hesitantly cupped her face, tilting her chin up. Slowly he leaned toward her waiting for her to pull away.

But she didn't.

Her eyes fluttered closed and her lips slightly parted, waiting.

His nerves were thrumming along their endings; he felt balanced on the edge of a precipice; no soft landing this...

He was completely lost in the moment...aside from the sweet pull of music, his life had been a nightmare...he was awake for the very first time.

_His miracle._

Unfortunately...she was much better off without him.

But that didn't stop him from wanting a taste.

No...

_He_ touched his mouth lightly to hers, brushing it softly, pulse racing madly from the exquisite touch and feel of her lips pressed to his, causing a frisson of pure pleasure.

He pulled back, reluctant to break the contact, but afraid of her reaction.

Her hands which had ended up curled against his thin chest, slid up around his neck and pulled his head back to hers. This time his cool mouth met hers hungrily and he moaned, pulling her tighter against his body, straining her to him, his hands running over her back.

The thrill from holding her in his arms was priceless, but from the way his heart was pounding, he thought he may very well be headed for a heart attack.

_She_ was lost in entirely new sensations. His mouth pulling deeply at hers, was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. It was far from her first kiss but _his, _lit a fire in her blood.

The kiss was unschooled, but his eagerness more than made up for his lack of finesse.

She threaded her fingers through his soft hair, liking the feel of his arms around her, clutching her close...closer.

This was surreal...she barely knew him. But it didn't matter.

No...not one bit.

Erik couldn't get enough of her sweet lips and body pressed tightly against him. It was nearly overwhelming, but entirely delicious.

He had been touch deprived for far too many years, and in those years, hands on him usually meant physical harm. _Hers _brought pleasure, when all he'd ever known before was pain.

In those few moments he felt intense joy, an emotion virtually unknown to him.

His hands came up and framed her face. He pressed little, desperate kisses all over her cheeks and closed eyelids, finally settling back on her mouth.

Christine clutched his thin shoulders tighter, delighting in the taste and texture of his mouth slanted across hers.

She was annoyed by the mask scraping against her face as their lips moved eagerly over each other, almost reaching out to drag it out of the way. But wisely she desisted, for she well knew how quickly he could spiral out of control.

Touching the mask was _not_ an option.

Perhaps one day...

Too fast...her inner voice whispered. Doubt rose up in her mind, directing her to pull away from him, but she shut that voice out, preferring the building heat low in her belly.

He was all too exciting to her inflamed senses, but perhaps that was a part of the attraction for her; a unique element arriving into her ordered life and adding a spark that hadn't been present before.

And yet...it was the strangest feeling to her...the sense that she had been waiting for just this man; in a very short time, he had felt familiar and important to her well being.

She mentally shook herself...

And started to pull away from him; her common sense kicking in at last, leaving a part of her protesting her withdrawal.

With great reluctance, he pulled away from her mouth, already mourning the loss of it...she was fast becoming a drug to him...one that all too soon he would not be able to live without.

For an infinitesimal moment so quick, that it had barely registered in his brain...he had almost refused to let her go.

He wanted more of her warmth and softness...he'd been cold for so long.

He leaned forward until his forehead was touching hers, willing his breathing to slow down. Placing a last soft kiss on her cheek, he stood shakily and moved away, clenching his fists to keep from pulling her into his arms once more.

"Christine...I apologize for that...it will not happen again." he said, raking a trembling hand through his hair.

She wasn't sure if that's what she'd wanted to hear from him.

He had seemed just as eager as she had, even more so.

She had enjoyed kissing him...but it would be better to put this behind them...at least for now.

Forgetting it...that would be a completely different matter.

"I should go."

She pushed herself to her feet, and without looking at him, she walked on shaky legs to the door and wished him a hasty good night.

He stood there looking at the door through which she had just left, wanting her back with all of his being.

He had kissed her! And she hadn't pulled away. Christine had responded to him.

To _him_!

She deserved much better than a freak and a killer; many who had met death from his hands, had called him a monster with their last breaths.

And he was...

But it would be the worst hell in the world for him to walk away from her when this was over.

She went downstairs in a daze, passing one of their tenants on the stairs, barely acknowledging their greeting.

She made straight for her bedroom, and shutting the door, laid down on her bed staring at the ceiling. She reached up and touched a finger to lips that had been thoroughly kissed.

What _were_ they doing?

She puzzled over it. Their acquaintance had been brief, but she felt closer to him in a shorter period of time, than to people she'd known for years.

She was still having trouble coming to grips with her response to him; there was much to admire in the man, but so much of his life was unknown to her.

He had a hair-trigger temper..._that _she knew; again, she had watched as he went for a man's throat, only this time, it had been her friend's neck. The next time someone angered him, he might not stop until it was too late.

What if it was _her_?

So why when he was near her, did she feel more alive?

She felt a connection to him that went beyond anything she had ever felt before. Turning her back on him didn't seem like an option for her...the pull toward him was becoming far too strong.

All this, and she had yet to see his face.

And although she would try to forget what had just occurred between them, she knew that was impossible.

What next?

In the morning, Christine dragged herself to work; having slept poorly, she knew the day would be a long one.

The store wasn't terribly busy though, so around lunchtime, she made some coffee for herself and Meg, and pouring them each a cup, she leaned a hip on the counter observing her friend over the rim of her mug.

"Meg..." she began hesitantly. "Uh...do you believe a person can fall in love with someone and not know them well at all?"

She took a sip of her coffee and looked out the window at Baltimore St., bars of sunlight shifting over the road, the day already promising to be a warm one.

Meg was straightening a shelf of paperback books near the door and turned to look at her.

"Sure...I think people can fall in love at first sight."

She grinned impishly at Christine. "Yeah...especially if he's a hunk. Why?"

Christine shook her head. "No reason. Just asking."

Meg gave her friend a questioning look, but said nothing more.

She proceeded to tell Meg about the masquerade ball on July 2nd, and they discussed what costume Christine should wear until another customer walked in.

Six o'clock finally arrived and she left for the day; she had opened the store that morning at nine, Meg was staying until closing.

Erik, across the street, watched her leave. He was well hidden in the shadows between buildings; he hadn't meant to be here, but found he couldn't help himself.

It was Friday and tonight he would meet with Moncharmin.

It made him uneasy having to rely on a man he didn't trust, but it was quite possible that the very nature of what Moncharmin was made Erik doubt his veracity, for Andre played two games and the highest bidder won.

In this particular case, it was Erik and _his_ employers.

Still...

Of course, Erik himself at times had been tempted to sell out to whoever paid the highest, but decided at some point, even _he_ needed some honor.

He watched Christine enter her car and pull out of the lot. He leaned back against the brick wall and closed his eyes.

He felt her lips on his again and savored the memory of it and knew that when he was gone from here, he would bring that particular moment out of hiding and remember it over and over.

His will power would be taxed to the limit leaving her alone.

After all, when had _he_ ever been this close to heaven?

It was not going to be easy staying away from her, he thought tiredly.


	8. Chapter 8

The men had finished their back nine of golf and were having lunch at the 19th Hole.

Andre Moncharmin started his second Manhattan and listened to the idle talk at the table. Philippe was teasing a man named Albert Davis for his lengthy stay at the twelfth hole when Andre's phone rang.

Looking at the caller's name, he hastily excused himself and walked outside and around the corner checking for privacy. Satisfied, he took the call.

"I had nearly given up on you. I'm meeting with Reauchard tonight; I certainly hope you've come up with a way to stall him...he's anything but patient."

He listened to the voice, his ire increasing.

"You can't be serious! No. What...? I said no, didn't I? Time is running out and he'll want all the particulars and this is what you're giving me?"

He listened, spluttering, his face going an unhealthy shade of red.

"Yes, you're damned right. I _am_ afraid of him! Those freakish eyes that don't blink. I thought I left all of that behind in Paris!"

He shuddered and took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh.

He paused when the man on the other end spoke again, then he exclaimed, "You don't say? I would never have believed it. Philippe?"

Their conversation continued a few minutes more, then Moncharmin walked back inside the restaurant and took his seat again.

De Chagny turned to him smiling. Everything all right, Andre? Any problems?"

"No, no... Philippe. Nothing wrong. Simply a few minor details that Reyer wanted to discuss concerning the next ballet scheduled."

He looked at Philippe, seeing his host in quite a new light. Well, we all have our secrets, don't we? he thought.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Erik found himself back at Chagny close to midnight; the night was warm and cloudy; getting in unseen wasn't very difficult and he soon slipped inside Moncharmin's room. The man rose from a chair near the window and stood nervously watching the Phantom's approach.

"Quite unusual wouldn't you say, Moncharmin, having an attack of the vapors given your line of work?"

He was smiling, but it was far from friendly. He advanced into the room, seating himself in the other chair. He leaned back, crossing his long legs, and lacing his pale fingers together beneath his chin, he studied Moncharmin closely.

"Well Andre, time is becoming precious. What about the information I requested of you?"

Moncharmin looked at the man impersonating a human, and was struck again by how calm and composed he was for this deadly business.

He chose his words carefully.

"The hit will definitely take place at the ceremony on July 3rd in the military park. At the site of the so-called, Pickett's Charge."

"Who, my ami?" he asked softly.

"I...do not know."

He looked at Erik, then the words poured out of his mouth in a rush.

"My informant doesn't know the assassin's identity yet, but he will...he will. There is a full week until the event. I swear you will know long before then."

He sat down and leaned forward, his trembling hands clutching his knees.

"There is something else you should know." Andre paused and shot Erik a quick glance, then looked away. "For what it's worth, Philippe de Chagny is an ex-Navy Seal and was once a mercenary. Which means, he could be trouble for us."

"Philippe de Chagny does indeed have a solid friend in you." Erik sneered.

Moncharmin had the grace to flush.

"I find it interesting that Philippe worked so hard to be on the planning committee for the president's visit." He shook his head. "I've always wondered...to what purpose? Couple that with his mercenary work..." he shrugged.

Erik continued watching Moncharmin, clearly realizing the affect that he had on him and using it to his advantage. Fear after all, was a wonderful motivator.

"I fail to see the significance, Andre. He has an established home here. Even if he became a rich man from the president's death, he would be in hiding for the rest of his life."

He leaned forward and looked at Moncharmin, studying him closely.

"However, by all means observe Monsieur de Chagny, if it pleases you."

Erik's eyes took on a preternatural glow. "In the meantime...I will be observing _you_.

"I don't trust you." he said quietly. But you have something that I do not. An informant who can tell me what I need to know."

He added very softly,"Do not even _think_ of selling me out...you _will_ regret it."

Erik got up from his chair and leaned down to Moncharmin until he was mere inches from his face and spoke. "I need to bring this business to a satisfying conclusion. Unfortunately, I require your help to accomplish that. You're not getting paid for the usual type of information you've supplied me with at the Garnier. This is a more delicate matter which must be handled in a timely fashion." His eyes burned into Andre's.

Moncharmin could only look back at him, mesmerized by the Phantom's steady regard. It was as if the man knew his dirtiest and most shameful secrets.

"I swear you can trust me, Monsieur. By all that's holy...I won't let you down." he whispered.

"I sincerely hope that your informant works better for you than your managing of the Garnier."

Moncharmin could only shrug and reiterate that he would have the information the Phantom needed as soon as possible.

Erik nodded finally and straightened up. "I need to look at a guest list. Can you manage to do that?"

"Yes, I think that can be arranged."

"Excellent. I will give you a few days to do just that."

Erik started for the door, then stopped and looked back at Moncharmin. "Your informant...who is he?" he asked softly.

"I don't know much about him and even if I did...you realize, I wouldn't be able to tell you."

Erik smiled frostily and said with surprising humor. "Finally growing a pair are we? Very well. Au revoir...for now."

After he left, Moncharmin slumped down in his chair.

Suddenly he felt far too old and frail for this lifestyle.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Erik decided to do some exploring of Chagny after leaving Moncharmin.

The mansion was quiet, its inhabitants asleep for the night; he moved on gliding feet around the first floor, cataloguing the rooms in his mind for future reference. He moved next, to the second floor and eventually stood in front of a pair of stout oak doors, which he cautiously opened.

The library was before him and quite a large one at that; he admired the rows and rows of books, moving steadily toward the back of the room.

He noticed the spiral staircase disappearing into the thick shadows above and mounted the first iron step, intent on seeing what was up there.

He arrived at the top of the stairs, where more shelves were located and little else. Erik backtracked the way he'd come, and when he reached the bottom step, he spied the narrow door tucked away directly under the stairs.

He walked to the door and gently jiggled the knob finding it locked. Using his pick, within seconds he was stepping through the doorway into a very narrow passage covered in cobwebs and dust.

His eyesight worked very well in low light conditions; finding his way around in the dark was no hardship for him, but the tunnel was nearly black as pitch; he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and switched it on.

Closing the door behind him, he started walking forward in the passage, noting that the thick dust on the uneven brick floor was undisturbed.

The passage moved downward at a gentle grade for quite a ways, but eventually leveled out. The ceiling of the tunnel was barely a foot above his head, but high enough so he could comfortably walk upright.

Every so often, a side passage opened to the right or left, undisturbed as well.

There was a dampness in the claustrophobic tunnel and the brick walls dripped moisture, the mustiness and mildew odor almost overpowering in places.

At last the tunnel came to a dead-end, and Erik having nowhere else to go, looked up at the ceiling seeing a rusty grate set into the stone and long, spindly branches from shrubbery overhead snaking through the bars.

He grabbed onto the bars of the grate and shook them, gauging their strength, before he saw the sturdy padlock snugly encircling the bars and an iron ring set into the wall just below the grate.

The pick again made short work of the padlock, and opening it, he hoisted himself easily through the narrow opening and into the silent night.

Quickly he glanced around, making sure he was alone. He was in a wide clearing dotted with scrub trees and mountain laurel, surrounded on three sides by woods that stretched out further than he could determine.

Westward, the clearing gave way to a blacktop road well lit by low pressure sodium lamps.

The grate was partially hidden by overgrown forsythia bushes; to the casual observer it didn't exist.

He had read of passages such as this, used for the transporting of runaway slaves to safety in the larger cities of the North; perhaps Chagny was once a part of the so-called underground railroad.

He dusted off his hands and started walking in a westerly direction toward the road.

An occasional bird chirruped, disturbed by his passing; the night was still and the ground covered in a heavy dew.

He passed wraith-like through the clearing; if anyone had happened to look his way, they would have been frightened at the sight meeting their eyes.

A shadow moving silently and with speed, two yellow points of light hovering over six feet off the ground.

That same person would stay absolutely still until the shadow passed by, wishing he was in a room well lit and filled with noise and laughter, not realizing he was seeing a man made of blood and bone the same as himself.

A unique man, but a man nonetheless.

As it was, Erik was completely alone that night.

He walked for a few minutes until he was standing at the edge of the road.

He turned to his left, and keeping away from the street lights as much as possible, he walked a short distance, until he came to a dilapidated shed obviously abandoned and overgrown with poison ivy.

Tonight's discoveries were going to be very helpful indeed.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days went fairly slow for Christine; she helped Mama with the work at home over the weekend, disappointed that she saw nothing of Erik.

She had noticed his car gone for most of Saturday, but on Sunday it was back in the lot and hadn't moved for the entire day.

She was nearly tempted to ask him to have supper with them, but at the last minute changed her mind.

She had listened to the lovely sound of the violin briefly; she at least knew _what_ he was doing, if not how he was feeling after parting from him the other day.

What she felt for him was confusing at best; almost against her will, she was drawn to him.

He was a complex man: intelligent, gifted...volatile. She knew he was someone that life had not treated very well.

She thought often of what they'd shared.

She had felt his desire for her and knew intuitively, that he was fighting it; the way he had held her in his arms told her he'd wanted to continue.

_She _hadn't wanted him to stop either.

What she was left with now, was a need to spend more time with him and discover where it might lead.

To say she wasn't curious about what lay under the mask would be untrue, but for their relationship to progress, she assumed he would explain the need for it.

She smiled wryly. _What_ relationship?

Monday morning dawned rainy with a low hanging fog; the weather was dreary for the latter part of June, and Christine felt that shopping for her dress for the masquerade would cheer her up.

So with that thought she called Meg to invite her along.

The two girls walked down Chambersburg St. in the drizzle, headed for one of the two trendier dress shops in town.

"You are so lucky to be going to a ball! I'm jealous. Any idea what you're looking for?"

"Uh uh, but hopefully I'll know it when I see it."

They entered Kay's By Design and a pleasant faced woman approached them.

Smiling, she offered to help Christine find the perfect dress.

Christine looked through all of the beautifully designed gowns and slowly the idea coalesced into what she wanted. She told the two women what she was looking for and the search began.

They finally narrowed the choices down to three dresses and everyone was unanimous for the white satin with an overskirt of chiffon, for Christine decided that going as an angel was exactly what was called for.

She tried on the dress with the help of the sales lady, and with a grin on her face, she swept out to the showroom and twirled around for Meg.

Meg was impressed and said so.

"You'll be the prettiest angel at the ball." she said laughing. "Ha. And probably the only one too. Especially if any of Philippe's old girlfriends show up...that dude goes through women as often as he changes his socks."

The gown was duly wrapped in tissue and boxed.

Cringing slightly at the price of the dress, she shrugged in resignation and paid for it.

"Ah well..it's not everyday that a girl gets to go to a ball, right Meggie?"

They left the shop and went to the Gettysburg Hotel for tea. Settling themselves in the beautiful dining room, they placed their order with the waitress, then got caught up on what they were doing for the rest of the day.

Meg buttered a slice of apple bread and took a bite.

"How's it going with Mr. Reauchard?"

Christine wasn't ready to share all her feelings concerning Erik with Meg just yet; she wasn't exactly sure herself what those feelings were, so she smiled and downplayed everything.

"He's an interesting man; he's a musician...a very good one too and his voice is _unreal, _Meg. We've talked a few times since I took him round the battlefield; he's a rarity...he actually listens to me when I speak."

She snickered a little at this; Meg herself had accused her at times of talking too much.

"I dunno...you almost have a look on your face of hero worship when you mention him. Come on Christine...what's going on?

"You like him more than just a little. Have you gotten a peek behind the mask yet? Wait...ah, don't tell me...it's actually Gerard Butler under there, right?"

She laughed, then noticed that Christine wasn't smiling.

"No," she said quietly. "I admire him...he's intelligent and accomplished."

She paused, swallowing the last of her tea, staring out the window as the rain came down harder, the traffic moving around the town square, slowing to a snail's pace.

"I like Erik." she said simply. "The world is an unforgiving place and he carries himself with such dignity. But he also makes..." she was about to tell Meg her doubts about him, but stopped.

It wouldn't be fair to him until she knew him better. She blushed thinking she had been well on her way to doing just that the other night, if that kiss was any indication.

Meg looked at her sheepishly. "Sorry, I got carried away a little...you know how my mouth runs on when I should keep it shut. Forget what I said, 'kay?"

Christine smiled at her friend and poured herself some more Earl Grey.

"Forgotten. What're your plans for later?"

"I told Lillian I'd come in at 6:00 and stay over an hour after closing to stock some shelves for her."

Meg stirred her tea, wrinkling her brow.

"Dan called this morning and asked me out to dinner at Herr's Tavern; he finally gets around to calling and I have to tell him no." she said disgusted.

"Hey...call him back, Meggie and tell him you'll go. I'll cover for you...it's the least I can do. You were a big help choosing my dress."

Meg didn't take long to accept her offer; the women finished their tea and dashed for the car in the pouring rain.

Christine dropped Meg off at her house and headed home.

She pulled into the driveway just as Erik was getting out of his car.

He stood there waiting for her.

As always, he was impeccably dressed. His hat was pulled low over his eyes as usual, and a long black overcoat was hanging open over his suit. The only bit of color was his white shirt and a deep red tie.

She was very happy to see him.

"Hello Christine. Might I have a word with you?"

"Erik! Sure, but let's get out of this rain." He followed her up the sidewalk and into the foyer.

He removed his hat and ran his thin fingers nervously around the brim.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I thought...if you would care to...perhaps you will join me for some music in the parlor tonight."

He had stopped the motions with his hat, only to begin again, waiting for her answer.

She smiled to herself, charmed by his obvious shyness at asking her and very disappointed that she had to tell him no.

"I would love to Erik, but I have to work tonight. I'm really sorry."

"I had hoped that perhaps...you would sing for me. Another time then."

He gave a brief nod of his head, turned and made for the stairs, not even giving her a chance to reply.

She _had_ wanted to join him...had been longing to sing with him; she knew that for Erik, it wasn't simply a casual no...she didn't think anything was casual where he was concerned.

For the rest of the day she helped Mama, cleaning one of the empty apartments and getting it ready for the next tenant.

At 5:00 they finished up and headed for the kitchen to fix a light supper. The older woman cracked some eggs into a pan, while Christine set the table.

Lucy danced around their feet, generally getting in the way, until Christine took pity on the little dog and got her some supper. They sat down to their own meal and Mama filled her in on all the gossip she'd heard from her friends lately.

Christine cleaned the kitchen afterward, and grabbing the coin Erik had given her, left the house. Heading into town, she stopped at the jeweler's on Steinwehr and had the Persian coin put into a setting for a necklace. The jeweler assured her it would look marvelous and he'd have it ready for her in a few days.

Running out of time, she quickly got out of her car in the parking lot outside the souvenir shop and headed inside, glad to get out of the miserable weather.

She had no idea she was being watched.

She dropped her purse behind the cash register and exchanged a few words with Lillian, the owner of Timeless Treasures before she left for the night.

There were already quite a few people in the store, mostly those just getting off of the double decker tour bus and looking for a souvenir to take home.

Christine liked watching the river of humanity passing through the shop; she often wondered about their lives back home and what there was about Gettysburg that drew them in.

For the most part, she enjoyed chatting with them, giving directions to attractions and even good restaurants and hotels.

When they asked for directions to the battlefield, the answer usually confused them. "You're standing on it." she would say. She then explained patiently that much of the fighting did indeed take place in the town itself and one of its residents had been killed on July 3rd, the last day of the epic battle.

"The house where she died is just down the street from here. If you care to, you can take a tour of it." she would tell the eager listeners.

Jenny Wade had been baking bread in her sister's kitchen on Baltimore St., when a sniper's bullet had pierced two doors, killing her instantly.

She had been twenty-one years old when she died, and the bread was for hungry Union soldiers.

She told the tragic story simply because in her mind, it was a case of truth being stranger than fiction.

Usually, their interest was engaged and they listened raptly.

Virginia or Jennie, as she was known, was childhood friends with Wesley Culp and Jack Skelly.

They grew up together, roaming the woods and fields around Gettysburg, spending a lot of their time on Wesley's uncle's farm, especially a heavily wooded area known locally as Culp's Hill.

Wesley eventually moved to Virginia looking for work; Jennie and Jack fell in love and were planning on marrying, until the war interrupted their plans. Jack enlisted with the Union forces, while Wesley joined the army of his adoptive state of Virginia, a part of the new Confederacy.

In June of 1863, Jack was badly wounded at the Battle of Winchester; Wesley found him in a hospital tent dying of his wounds and a grieving Jack gave Wesley a letter to give to his sweetheart Jennie, asking him to deliver it if Wesley ever found himself back in Gettysburg.

As a matter of fact, Wesley had a date with destiny in Gettysburg and on July 3rd he was killed in battle, falling on Culp's Hill...his uncle's farm.

Earlier that morning unknown to Wesley, his childhood friend, Jennie was killed by a sniper's bullet. Jack, after much suffering, finally died on July 12th, the last of the three friends to die in the war.

None of the three were ever aware of the others' fates.

Christine was kept fairly busy until nearly closing, then business gradually fell off.

When the last customer finally left, she put the closed sign in the door and turned off most of the lights.

She looked out the window, noting that the rain was still falling and charcoal clouds were moving quickly across the darkening sky.

She made her way upstairs and to the restocking Lillian wanted her to do that night.

She worked steadily, humming along with the song in her head, thinking often of Erik and wishing she was sitting at the piano with him instead of here alone.

Around 9:30, she jumped when she heard a noise from downstairs.

She had been kneeling on the floor, stacking folded sweatshirts onto the lower shelves; she listened closely and thought she heard someone moving around downstairs.

No one called out particularly Lillian, which she would have, not wanting to scare Christine.

That fact alone frightened her, for the movements were quiet and furtive from below.

Still, she called out, expecting Lillian to answer. When she heard no response, she realized she was in trouble.

Getting to her feet, she moved over to the door as soundlessly as possible.

The room where Christine had been working was the only one on the second floor unlocked. Lillian's office was the next door down and beyond that was the room she kept her antiques in; Lillian had a thriving antiques business aside from her souvenir shop.

She kept the more expensive items in the larger of the rooms on the second floor until she could sell them.

The room Christine was in, was her only option.

She never stopped to wonder why she was being so cautious; most likely it _was_ Lillian coming back for something, but the short-hairs on the back of her neck were standing up.

She would probably have a good laugh with Meg over this, and possibly embarrass herself with her reaction, but better safe than sorry.

Being an old house, the stairs creaked badly, so hearing the sounds from the first riser and no pleasant voice calling her name, practically shouted intruder to her; quickly she hit the wall switch, plunging the room into darkness.

She hurriedly removed one of her shoes and tossed it out the door and as far down the hallway as she could get it, where it thunked up against the wall.

Her next move was to find a place to hide; she badly wanted to scream...the sounds were coming closer.

Going out the window was not an option...the fall would cause serious injury, possibly even be fatal.

Her pepper spray was tucked deep in her purse, doing her absolutely no good where it was-downstairs behind the counter.

Her father had insisted long ago that she carry it with her, and she had, but Gettysburg had always been so safe, it had ended up buried in the bottom of her handbag. It was ludicrous to think that she was in danger now, but so she was.

She quickly felt her way to the back of the room and as silently as possible, opened the closet door and slipped inside.

Christine was nearly hyperventilating; she pulled the door shut as quietly as possible and sitting on her butt, she scooted as far back in the dusty space as she could go until she came up against the back wall and tried to disappear behind a stack of large picture frames.

The closet wasn't very big, but provided a modicum of invisibility behind the frames and discarded clothing hanging on the rack.

She heard him come into the room and pause on the threshold, then begin moving closer to her hiding place. Throwing her shoe hadn't fooled him; he had tracked her movements from the bottom stair.

She noticed a thin beam of light shining across the floor...he had a flashlight.

She was shaking badly and felt a scream building in her throat. Oh God, she thought. _ Please..._

She pulled her legs up, and closing her eyes, she put her head down on her knees waiting, praying that he wouldn't open the door she was hiding behind.

She heard it then, the slight turning of the closet doorknob; she tensed, ready to spring up and push her way out, when she heard a much louder noise and the sound of scuffling.

Christine listened to someone grunting in pain and something heavy hitting the wall with force; there followed the noises of a hasty retreat down the stairs, then a brief, uneasy silence.

She heard a click and light flooded the room from under her door. Her breathing was no more than sobbing pants by now, and when she heard footsteps coming back to her closet, she opened her mouth to scream.

"Christine!" The door opened.

It was Erik.

He started to enter the closet, amber eyes glowing in the dim light; she stood up and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his waist and clutching him tightly.

He only hesitated a moment, before wrapping her in his arms and holding her close, murmuring soothingly...realizing she was close to becoming hysterical.

Tremors shook her slender frame and she buried her face in his thin chest, feeling safe at last.

He talked softly to her in his native tongue. "Ma petite bijou. (My little jewel) Tu es mon seul." (You are my only one)

"Hush now little one, Erik is here." he crooned.

"Are you hurt, Christine...did he touch you in any way?"

She shook her head, still holding him tightly.

He relaxed and kissed her temple.

Her shaking gradually eased, and reaching up, she placed her hand on his masked cheek.

"H...how about you? Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"I...I heard him coming up the stairs. I was so...so scared...did you see him?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Non, ma petite; I saw him breaking into the shop, but aside from following him up the stairs, I was more concerned for you than his identity." "But..." He stopped and looked thoughtfully toward the stairs.

"What? Did you notice something about h...him?"

He mentally shook himself, and turning to her, took her elbow and steered her toward the hallway and the stairs.

"Erik...my shoe."

She pointed down the shadowy hallway; Erik looked at her one bare foot missing a shoe and he went and retrieved it for her.

Leaning against him, she slipped it back on, then straightened.

"I threw it down there hoping it would keep him away from me, b...but it didn't work."

"Shh, ma belle. You are fine now."

He put his arm around her and led her to the stairs.

"As to your question...no, I did not. However, from now on I think working here at night should not be done alone."

"I need to call the police. It _was_ a break-in and Lillian should probably know too, just in case he comes back."

"Yes, by all means, call them. I will wait across the street for you."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating smile, as he swept one pale hand elegantly across his mask.

"The police would naturally assume that I am the one they seek, n'est-ce pas?"

He took her hand gently in his and raised it to his lips and placed a kiss in her palm.

"You need only say, Christine, that something frightened him off before he got to you, yes?"

She nodded wearily.

"Are you certain you are all right?" he asked softly.

She nodded again and took hold of his hand, "Thanks to you, Erik." she whispered.

Tears welled up once again in her eyes, and dashing her hand across them, she paused.

"What _were _you doing here?"


	10. Chapter 10

Ah yes...what to tell her.

Erik wasn't at all sure what his answer would be; to admit that he had been spying on her was out of the question.

He hadn't expected to see her tonight...had merely wanted to be close by. His heart had sped up when he saw the man breaking into the store and he'd acted.

From the very start he'd been watching her; the first time he had followed her to the Walmart store, he had set out to use her for his own reasons, but how quickly that had changed.

He'd had no intention of getting involved with her. But seeing the man arguing with Christine that night, had brought out an emotion he'd never known to exist within himself.

The urge to protect.

An odd circumstance for him, to be sure; he had never put anyone before his own needs in his entire life.

He would give anything to erase his miserable past and present her with a life worthy of her love; a face boring in its normality, but those were pipe dreams already dreamt long ago.

The greatest test for his newly formed love, would be to leave here when this business was done and let her get on with her life.

But not yet.

Someone had tried to harm her tonight.

It may very well have been a simple robbery attempt, but his instinct told him that was not the case.

Something niggled at his mind; some thought that had briefly been there, then like a wisp of smoke, it dissipated leaving behind an unsettled feeling.

When he had flown up the stairs in the wake of the intruder, his only thought had been to get to Christine before he did.

His struggle with the man had been brief.

And then it occurred to him. The man had used tactics that were tailored for the military; he had been given some instruction in hand to hand combat, but Erik had been more adept than he and had thrown him into the wall.

The man had recovered quickly and fled down the stairs, but not without injury, he surmised.

He could have successfully apprehended him, but his fear for Christine was greater than a foot chase at the time.

Something was not right.

He needed to talk with the Persian and soon.

With that in mind, he answered her.

"I wanted to see you, Christine." he said smoothly. "Since you could not join me, I decided to wait for you; I thought perhaps you would like a cup of coffee after you finished here. I was across the street sitting in my car, when I saw the man breaking into the shop."

She put her other hand over his and squeezed it lightly. "I'm just glad you _were _here. I'm going to call the police, then get hold of Lillian. If you don't want to wait for me, I'll understand."

"I will wait."

He stayed with her a few minutes after she had placed her calls, then walked up the street to his car.

He settled himself and called Nadir.

The Persian answered his phone almost immediately.

Erik quickly filled him in on the events of the evening, all the while watching the front and sides of Timeless Treasures.

He could see Christine through the window, and as he stood guard, a squad car turned into the parking lot, followed ten minutes later by a white sedan. A woman exited the car and walked into the store; the owner no doubt.

"Daroga, I wish for you to discover something for me, if you will; Philippe de Chagny's whereabouts after his service with the U.S. Navy Seals."

He paused and wearily raked his hand through his hair.

"Allah, Erik. And why would de Chagny want to harm the Daae woman? What purpose would it serve?"

"Merde, daroga! How do the Americans say it? Hunch. Yes...I have a hunch. Le geneur (the intruder) had fight training; he was not a petty thief."

"What does Ms. Daae have to do with your activities in Pennsylvania?"

He could almost sense Erik's displeasure at the question, so he hastened to say, "I will find out what I can my friend, but tell me... how much does the young lady know about your reason to be in Gettysburg? You were going to use her to gain entry to the de Chagny's...did you?"

"There was no need for that."

His mouth turned up in a humorless smile.

" I was able to accomplish that on my own. Le petite jeune fille was not required. She thinks I am a real estate developer for French interests in the United States and that is how it shall remain. I do not want her involved in any way. Is that clear?" he warned.

"Yes...yes, very clear. What about Moncharmin? Have you spoken with him?"

"I will be seeing him very soon...tomorrow in fact. He should have the guest list for the ball by then."

The Persian hesitated, then plunged ahead with his question.

"Forgive me for asking, my friend...but are you developing an interest in the young mademoiselle? A dangerous thing to do at this time, is it not?"

"Forgive _me_ my good _friend,_ but that is none of your damned business."

"Very well, Erik, but I think you just answered _that_ particular question in your own inestimable way." he said wryly.

"Daroga," he sighed. "I would very much appreciate anything you can find out for me regarding Philippe de Chagny, n'est-ce pas?

"Bonne nuit."

Erik ended the call and continued watching the store across the street.

He slouched down in his seat, his long legs already feeling cramped in the small space.

Nadir Khan was his only friend and he trusted the man with his very life, but occasionally he could resemble a donkey's ass.

Thirty-five minutes after his phone call, the police exited the store and drove away.

A few minutes later Christine was out the door.

Erik quickly left his car and sprinted across Baltimore St. to her side.

"Nothing was stolen. The cops think something scared him off before he could harm me or steal anything."

She put her arm through his as they walked to her car.

The rain had finally stopped, but the clouds were still prevalent; the sickly moon riding in the sky was mostly hidden.

A brisk breeze had sprung up, ruffling Christine's blonde hair.

"They said I'm a lucky girl." She squeezed his arm and said softly, "I think they're right."

He opened her door and she quickly got in the driver's seat and rolled down her window.

"Lillian gave me the day off tomorrow with pay. She's still in there doing some inventory, but not for long."

Christine started her car and Erik leaned down to the open window.

"I will follow you back to the house."

She nodded and in a few minutes, she pulled out of the lot, Erik close behind her.

She was tired.

It had been a long, eventful day with moments of pure fright, which had left her exhausted, but upon leaving her car when they arrived back at the house, Erik suggested that a cup of coffee would do her good.

She accepted and together they made their way upstairs to his apartment.

She perched herself on a chair and watched him as he made the strong French roast he preferred.

She admired the grace and economy of movement that was his unique style as he worked.

In minutes he set a cup of coffee before her and added a dollop of brandy to it. She started to protest the liquor, but he stopped her.

"It will help you sleep tonight, ma petite."

He sat down across from her and took a sip from his own mug.

"Erik...I can't tell you how thankful I am that you were there tonight."

She put her cup down, and reaching for his hand, threaded her fingers through his.

"That was the second time you've been there for me. You're my guardian angel." she said softly.

He looked at their joined hands, then at her tired face. He cursed his inability to stay away from her, but was glad he couldn't; if he hadn't been there tonight, she quite possibly would have been physically harmed...or worse.

She was with every heartbeat, burrowing deeper into his soul.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away. "Drink up Christine and go and get some sleep." he said quietly.

She finished her coffee and rose from the table. She felt like she was being dismissed, but it _was_ getting late, so she picked up her mug and put it in the sink.

Erik walked with her to the door.

"Bonne nuit, ma petite...sleep well."

"After that wonderful nightcap, I intend to."

She smiled sleepily at him, and stepping forward, she put her arms around his narrow waist and hugged him tight.

He was momentarily caught off guard, but soon he was closing his eyes and leaning into her warmth.

His arms stole around her and pulled her in close; he nearly groaned at the heavenly feel of her in his arms.

Standing on her toes, she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, bringing his head down.

Her mouth found his and on a rising tide of sensations, they stayed locked together, tasting and teasing with their lips, until the necessity to breathe forced them apart.

He sought her mouth again, then trailed cool kisses down her neck and back up to the sensitive area behind her ear, eliciting a soft moan from her, all the while murmuring soft endearments to her in between kisses.

He felt wholly alive and vital, more so than at any time in his life.

He held her closer and felt his control slipping away.

He needed to take this slow; he had a feeling she was no more experienced than he.

He was much older than her, and by that very fact, should have a care as to how he treated her.

But when it came to the affairs of the heart, he was no older than Christine.

Kissing was a new and wonderful feeling for him. He felt out of his depth, but not in a bad way. The fact that Christine had initiated this, left him confused; no one had ever _wanted_ to be this close to him, but in no way did he want it to end.

Far from it.

He would like...no, he _needed_ much, much more.

The tip of his tongue darted out and hesitantly touched the corner of her mouth, and her lips parted for him, her fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Feeling a little braver, he licked her bottom lip and she gave out a soft sigh.

Emboldened, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and with a bright bolt of pleasure, he felt hers shyly meet it in a delectable duel.

He groaned at the feel of her moist little tongue against his and cupped her face with his trembling hands, trailing his mouth down to her throat and placing kisses there.

They held each other tightly, both taking pleasure from the other, each wanting more.

Erik opened one eye and squinted at the bed. He wanted her on it...lying in his arms.

Lying beneath him.

He shuddered and raised his head, taking a much needed breath of air.

Christine gasped as his assault on her senses came to an abrupt end.

Her small hands were fisted in the fabric of his coat, hanging on for dear life; her knees had begun to buckle, when at last he'd raised his head, breathing hard and feeling dazed.

He placed one last kiss on her cheek and backed away, putting some much needed distance between them.

He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything.

But he would never harm her.

They both stood there trembling from the emotions of those few minutes, both perhaps realizing at the same time, that a line had just been crossed.


	11. Chapter 11

Erik stood near Andre Moncharmin and looked through the guest list for the masquerade ball.

Many of the guests were local luminaries, with a few politicians well known, no doubt, by the entire country.

One name in particular leapt out at him.

But of course...Christine had been invited by the boy.

One more reason for his attendance.

"The committee managing the July 3rd ceremony and the French president's involvement, will meet in the library at 11:00 during the ball." Erik said. "I have a reliable source informing me of this."

Moncharmin looked at the masked man in disbelief.

"It's your money, Monsieur, but isn't that what you're paying me to do?"

"I find to my disgust, I can no longer rely on your ability to gather what I require."

Moncharmin eyed Erik warily, and decided the best course was to change the subject.

"What will you be wearing so I can recognize you?"

Reauchard's yellow eyes settled on him, and as usual, made him squirm.

Andre would indeed be glad when their association was severed for good.

"Why my dear Andre, I will be the Red Death. Hard to miss, harder to forget."

Andre watched as the Phantom's mouth turned up in a twisted facsimile of a smile.

He would be costumed as Napolean Bonaparte and he relayed this to Reauchard.

"Just in case you may need to know of my whereabouts."

Erik regarded Moncharmin, watching his face carefully.

"Our roles unfortunately have been reversed; you are receiving information _you_ were supposed to supply _me_ with." Erik said much too quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"The French president will be making an appearance at the masquerade ball and attending the meeting in the library. Why were you not told this by your snitch?"

Moncharmin looked sharply at the masked man. "H...how do you know this?"

Reauchard's eyes narrowed to slits. "As I said before, you are not the only one well paid for information; I have other sources...sources more trustworthy, I think...than you."

Moncharmin sputtered. 'If you had this _source_ in the first place, why did you seek me out? And everything I've told you, Monsieur, has been correct."

The Phantom snorted in disgust. "That is my problem, Andre. You have not _given_ me anything. As for what you have told me, that is yet to be proven."

"It will be, I swear to you."

Before Moncharmin could back pedal away from him, quick as a snake, Erik had him pushed up against the wall, skeletal fingers around his throat, and those burning eyes glaring into his.

"Your usefulness to me is quickly nearing its end.

"You have no idea of what I am capable of, Andre." he whispered softly.

Moncharmin quailed at the feel of those cold fingers wrapped around his neck. He could do nothing but stare into eyes devoid of all human feeling. Totally helpless against this man who was very likely going to kill him.

He remembered years ago, the Phantom had come to see him in his office at the Garnier.

They had just begun a tidy, if uneasy relationship within the walls of the opera house. Andre gathered dirt on patrons of the opera, and the Phantom paid him very well for it.

One cool morning early in April, Reauchard had approached him about a particular group of British dignitaries and their wives who were attending the ballet that very night.

He was after the box designation for the party. Moncharmin had thought nothing of it, supplying the number of the box and expecting his usual payment for the information.

Later that night during intermission, one of the party, a very well known politico, disappeared from the box.

He had remained behind during the break as the rest of the group had gone to stretch their legs. No one had seen him leave the box; his glasses had been found lying on the floor intact.

His wife told the gendarmes he was literally blind without them, so wandering around the opera house on his own was out of the question.

Three days later, the man's body had been found a mile from the opera house in a section of Paris well known for criminal activity.

His murder was thought to be connected to a high profile case in England involving another member of the labour party, of which the dead man was a high ranking member.

A scandal that would likely have caused heavy damage to the validity of the party in the coming elections.

Moncharmin knew _exactly _of what the Phantom was capable.

The man had been nearly decapitated from a garrote.

Erik's grip tightened momentarily on Andre's throat, causing the man to squeak in alarm, his hands scrabbling desperately to break the iron grip.

As suddenly as it had started he was released, and gasping for air, he slid down the wall, shaking violently.

"Remember what I said, Moncharmin."

He wobbled to his feet, watching Erik warily, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

He mulled over what he'd been told before Reauchard had attacked him.

He knew of someone who would be very interested in the French president's visit to Chagny.

But why hadn't Philippe said anything?

_He_ narrowed his eyes at Moncharmin, his mouth a thin line.

"Why don't I know more, Andre?"

Moncharmin slid along the wall a few steps, putting distance between himself and the Phantom, not relishing a repeat of those cold hands on his neck.

"Ah...ah...ever since Joseph Buquet disappeared, getting _any_ information from my source, has been difficult at b...b... best." he sputtered.

"And I'm fairly certain his...movements were traced to the opera house. From there...nothing." he croaked.

He looked at Erik. "Do you know what happened to him?" he asked faintly, already knowing the answer.

"Possibly," and the Phantom's eyes glittered, making Andre wish fervently to be elsewhere, "but that is of no concern to me now. I am the one going blindly into this, and it was _your_ business to give me the facts I need, which you have failed to do.

"We need to get to the heart of the group attacking the government of France."

He paused for a moment, then looked hard at Andre.

"There have already been two hits in the French parliament and people are very nervous; soon the government will not function well at all. How long will _you_ last Andre? Still interested in your part in all of this?"

"I'm as loyal as the next man." he hastened to say. "Just as long as the money keeps coming m-my way."

He looked curiously at Erik. "My sources for information have always been invaluable; there's a wealth of secrets always to be tapped at the Palais Garnier, from a lowly court clerk, to a member of parliament. Isn't that why you followed me here? For... information?"

Erik never answered him, but turned and left the room, silently making his way back through the quiet de Chagny house.

He felt rather than knew, that Andre wasn't telling him everything; he could smell the lie all over him.

Feeding him the false tale of the president's appearance at the ball, was _his_ way of perhaps smoking the killer out into the open.

Better here than in front of hundreds of people on July 3rd, where the event was to be held in the open.

There would be a large contingent of agents, French _and _American, but there were literally hundreds of places for the shooter to conceal himself; a high powered rifle could be fired from a great distance and with wonderful accuracy.

He was uneasy with the entire situation and using Moncharmin had been a mistake.

He would deal with him later.

Erik was nearly to the study and the French doors leading outside when he heard voices.

He sidled up to the door and listened.

Philippe was sitting in one of a pair of chairs flanking the gray stone fireplace; stone quarried near Gettysburg.

He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head, smiling at his younger brother.

"... been up to? Haven't seen much of her around here lately."

He yawned and took a sip of his wine.

"You two used to be nearly inseparable."

"She's busy working, Phil. No mystery there.

"They have a renter over there though, that you wouldn't friggin' believe."

He filled his brother in on Erik Reauchard and their confrontation the other day.

"He came at me so fast; I didn't have a whole lot of time to react. He went right for my throat, the son of a bitch."

He touched his neck with the memory of how it felt to have his air cut off, and the painful pressure on his windpipe.

Philippe quickly sat up and stared at his brother.

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner? Did you call the police?"

Raoul shook his head and sighed. "Christine got him to stop. He was like a pit bull, and _she _was the only one who could make him behave."

He looked disgustedly at his brother.

"She talked me out of calling the cops on him and I agreed not to."

"Why?"

'Why what?" he snapped. "Why didn't she want me to call the cops, or why did I agree not to?"

"Both."

Raoul sighed again. "I'm not sure about Christine's reasons, but I'm afraid she finds this freak fascinating."

He barked out a laugh.

"Aww _you_ know, small town girl meets hideous masked Frenchman, and seeks romance, or some crap."

"French did you say? Interesting...Gettysburg is becoming very international, don't you think?"

Raoul just grunted in reply, then he got to his feet and stretched.

"I'm going to bed."

Philippe sat on a little longer mulling over what Raoul had just told him.

He needed to make a few phone calls.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

He heard someone approaching the study door and quickly walked down the hall and around the corner, moving soundlessly.

Erik watched as the boy exited the room and ten minutes later Philippe as well.

He went quickly into the study and slipped out through the French doors into the early morning darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Christine and Mama Valerius were cleaning the Chamberlain Apt., preparing it for the next tenant. The Dillards had vacated it yesterday.

They worked in silence for a while, moving quickly and efficiently, stopping at noon for lunch.

Christine got out the bread and leftover meatloaf from yesterday's dinner and made them each a sandwich.

Sitting down at the table she took a bite of hers. Mama came to the table with a glass of iced tea for each of them, Lucy at her heels.

They talked about their workload for the rest of the day, then the older woman cleared her throat and said, "I haven't seen too much of Mr. Reauchard lately, have you?"

"Nope. Not since the night of the break-in and that's been two days ago. Why do you ask?"

Christine had wondered about that herself, but she assumed he'd been busy.

Hoping he hadn't been avoiding her.

Mama shrugged and took a sip of her tea.

"No real reason, but you two seemed to be getting along so well. He's very fond of you, I think."

She hesitated to say more, but knew she needed to make sure Christine was careful with this man.

"Look... I realize you've come to like Mr. Reauchard, and I know how grateful you are... him coming to your aid the other night...I am too, but we really don't know very much about him..."

"This is more about the fact that he wears a mask, isn't it?"

Christine knew she was being unreasonable, because Mama was right.

She _didn't_ know all that much about Erik. Maybe it was time to rectify that.

"I hope I'm a better person than that, my girl! I most certainly do not hold his disfigurement against him."

She paused, choosing her next words carefully.

"He's not the friendliest man I've ever met, but he _is _fond of you. And you seem to return his regard, if I'm not mistaken.

Christine crumbled pieces of her sandwich, her tea untouched in front of her.

"I...I like him. He's different from anyone I've ever met, but it's more than that. He's so smart. We can talk for hours about so many things."

"I understand that, but he's practically a stranger. Just watch yourself, all right?"

Christine reached across the table and patted the older woman's hand. "I promise I'll be careful, okay?"

Mama gave her a searching look and nodded.

"All right then. I may be wrong, but I _think_ he's a gentleman, at least where you're concerned. Only you might want to explain how it is to Raoul. That young man still considers you his."

Christine stood up and started clearing the table.

"Raoul and I have been friends forever. He knows I love him, but not in that way. I'm not sure of my feelings for Erik either, to tell the truth, but I know one thing for sure..." she paused and looked at Mama.

"I want to learn everything about him. I don't want him walking out of my life just yet."

They were attracted to each other. She had no doubts on that score. Where it was leading them was the interesting question.

She was falling for a man she barely knew. One who was the extreme opposite of most men she'd ever met.

Mama watched the emotional by-play across Christine's face.

She was satisfied that she would be careful around Mr. Reauchard and that's all she was really concerned about.

Her complaisance would come back to haunt her.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

She put the last of the finishing touches on the Chamberlain apartment and locked the door.

A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped.

Turning quickly around she looked up at Erik.

She put a hand to her chest and let out a sigh of relief.

"Erik...ah...you startled me."

He had quickly pulled his hand back, berating himself for approaching her so quietly, but a lifetime of stealth was his second nature and done without conscious thought.

He was very pleased to see her. They hadn't spoken for two days and he had missed her.

Which did not mean he was unaware of her, for he had made it his business to watch her from a distance.

"I'm sorry for frightening you, Christine, but I needed to speak with you."

She smiled at him, and putting down her bucket of cleaning supplies, she stretched tiredly.

"I'm done for the day now. Just let me get rid of this stuff and we can talk."

He bent down and picked up the bucket and followed her, finding it hard to pull his gaze away from her shapely behind as she led him to the kitchen.

She put the cleaning items away in the broom closet, then motioned him to a chair at the table.

He looked at her with concealed joy, content to be with her again.

"I would like you to join me in the parlor tonight for some music, yes?"

"Of course. I'd like that."

She looked down at the table, choosing her next words carefully, remembering her conversation with Mama Valerius that very afternoon.

"Um...we can get to know each other better too. In a lot of ways... you're still a stranger to me."

He noticed that she was now having a hard time meeting his eyes.

"What is it that you wish to know about me?" he asked.

He felt the tension begin across his shoulders.

"Your...face. C...couldn't you have surgery to...to correct your disfigurement? How bad is it?"

She swallowed nervously, noticing how still he'd become, feeling embarrassed now from her questioning and his reaction to it.

"What makes you think I did not?"

Again, it was said gently, but something in his tone warned her she was on dangerous ground.

Too late, she remembered that day in the car, when she had mentioned his mask.

Christine was afraid to look at him, but mentally squared her shoulders and raised her eyes to his.

What she saw shocked her.

The man she'd come to admire had disappeared and a stranger had taken his place.

_This_ man was observing her with calculating eyes, his mouth curled as if he'd tasted something bitter.

"My body is an anomaly, Christine. In its extreme ugliness, it seeks to protect itself from all outside influences. It rejected the surgical attempts to give me a normal looking face; instead making me even more monstrous looking, if that was possible." he said harshly.

"What happened to you, Erik?" she whispered.

He got to his feet and looked down at her with false patience.

"I was born this way. To my mother's everlasting sorrow."

His beautiful voice was cold and dead.

"She hated me as much as I hated her. Now if you will excuse me, Mademoiselle."

"Erik...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He began walking to the door then stopped; not turning around he spoke, his thin back and shoulders rigid with anger and sadness.

"I thought you were different, Christine." he murmured.

He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.

"Less morbid curiosity than most humans and more genuine feelings. You will never see what Erik truly looks like. He must spare you _that_ particular horror."

And then he was gone.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Christine got home from work the next day with Meg in tow.

Lillian had let both of them leave at 5:00, and Christine had stopped at the jewelry store on the way back to the house to pick up her necklace.

It had been a warm day, and instead of cooking a meal in the kitchen, Christine made some hamburger patties and grilled them outside on the patio.

Meg made a salad, and when everything was ready, the three of them sat down at the picnic table.

Christine noted that Erik's car hadn't been in the lot when they arrived home. She was still smarting from his coldness yesterday and wished to make amends.

Didn't he realize she meant no harm?

Everyone has a face. It's only natural for her to want to see his, no matter what it looks like.

But maybe he'd been hurt so many times by the cruelty of others, that he just couldn't accept her curiosity.

Meg got up and turned on the portable radio, and tuned it to a rock station.

She turned around and scooped up Lucy and started dancing across the patio with the little pug, the dog never taking her eyes off the plate of burgers.

"Lucy...Lucy, get a life girl. You don't always need to be scoping your next meal!" Meg laughed.

Lucy struggled to get down, and huffing, Meg released her.

She went and sat down next to Christine, who was pushing salad around on her plate, elbow on the table and chin resting on one hand.

"Why so glum, Chris?"

Christine looked at her friend.

I'm not, Meg." she protested.

"So um...where's your French sweetie?"

Christine gave her a dirty look and stood up, gathering the plates together, her movements abrupt.

"Mr. Reauchard is _not_ my, as you so indelicately put it, French sweetie."

"Whoa...sorry. I just thought that maybe he was the reason for your long face. You pretty much looked that way all day.

"So...okay. What if he left and joined the French Foreign Legion, would you go after him?" she snickered.

That earned her another dirty look from Christine.

The two girls continued trading good-natured barbs as they carried the supper things back inside.

Erik moved away from his window once Christine and Meg left the patio.

French sweetie indeed, he thought.

He wondered if he really was Christine's reason for being moody.

He had felt that way himself since walking out on her yesterday. It was his damnable temper.

Of course she wanted to see his face. Perfectly understandable.

Only once she did see it, she would more than likely run screaming from the room.

He raked his hand through his dark hair and sighed wearily.

He needed to talk with her.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX 

Supper dishes done, they went back out on the patio. It was still warm and they noticed some heat lightning in the distance.

"Going to be a storm later tonight. Always is when it's this humid." Mama said.

Christine could barely see the Blue Ridge mountains through the thick canopy of trees. It was hazy along with the humidity, the cloud cover making it dark and gloomy.

"I'll just be glad when it cools down a bit."

She sat there in the dusk, noticing the light in Erik's window, wondering when he'd come in.

They talked a while longer, then Christine drove Meg home.

She took Lucy for a walk, then sat in a chair outside listening to the radio.

The wind was picking up a bit, but it felt good.

She lifted her face to the breeze, then stilled when she saw a ghostly shadow detach itself from the corner of the house.

Erik walked toward her, minus his black suit coat, white shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows.

She noted his thin arms, knowing how deceptively strong they were.

Christine let out her breath, not even realizing she'd been holding it.

She was very glad to see him.

He timidly moved toward her, suddenly nervous as to what she would do.

She watched him approach, then did something on the spur of the moment.

She stood up and went to him.

"Uh...dance with me?" she asked softly.

He had expected anger, even tears perhaps, but not that.

"I do not dance, Christine. I never have."

She went over and switched the radio station to the oldies channel.

She walked up to him, and taking his arm, she placed it around her waist.

She placed her left hand on his shoulder, and her right hand grasped his left, threading their fingers together.

She then showed him how to lead, and with his natural grace and quick learning curve, they were soon moving slowly around the patio to a sweet rhythm and blues song.

Neither one spoke.

She laid her head on his thin chest, listening to the quickening of his heartbeat.

He pulled her closer to his body, resting his masked cheek on the crown of her head, reveling in her nearness.

He wished the rest of the world would simply fall away and she could be his to hold like this forever.

He hummed along with the song.

Her cheek resting against him, she could feel the vibrations resonating in his chest.

They swayed to the music, simply glad to be together, not noticing the rapid change in the weather, until the first heavy drops of rain started to fall.

Christine laughed, and not letting go of Erik's hand, they ran for the small covered porch just outside the kitchen door.

She shook her head, wet from their mad dash, and grinned up at him.

He framed her face with his long fingered hands, searching her eyes for any hesitation, then lowered his mouth to hers.

They kissed hungrily, his mouth insistent on hers. She encircled his waist with her arms, and leaning into him, her fingers kneaded his back, feeling the knobs of his spine.

He finally pulled away, whispering her name.

"Forgive me, ma petite bijou...you meant no harm yesterday. My behavior was inexcusable."

He took her hand gently in his, and turning it over, kissed the palm.

"Shh." Christine put a finger to his lips, then standing on her toes, she placed a kiss at the corner of his thin mouth.

"I was being too nosy for my own good. When _you're_ ready to show me your face, it will be soon enough." she declared.

Erik's eyes flashed gold in the wet darkness, and leaning down, he placed a tender kiss to her forehead, then grasped her hands, holding them over his heart.

He sighed heavily and pulled away, her small hands still cradled in his larger ones.

"I do not know when that will be." he said gently.


	13. Chapter 13

"As long as it takes. I can wait." she said gently.

She took one of his hands and guided it to the chain hanging around her neck.

"The Persian coin you gave me. I had it made into a necklace."

She squeezed his fingers lightly and then hugged him again.

"I'm glad you're not upset with me anymore."

"I wasn't angry with you, Christine. How could I be?" he said simply.

She pulled away from him and sat down on the porch swing, Erik joining her.

They sat for a while listening to the rain drumming on the roof, the sound of thunder rolling away into silence, until the next flash of lightning brought more rumbles.

He looked at her steadily for a moment, then took her hand in his.

"I am not a good man, Christine." he said heavily.

"And I have never worried about that fact...until now."

He cupped her chin in his hand, and leaning down, he kissed her with all the gentleness he was capable of.

When she recovered her breath she leaned her head against his shoulder and said, "Oh, but I think you _are_ a good man. More than you give yourself credit for. Maybe you've never had the opportunity to prove it."

"Perhaps." was all he said.

"What about your family? Are you close to any of them?"

"My father died before I was born. My mother was horrified at what she had birthed. I left home when I was twelve and I have been alone ever since."

"Erik, how old are you?"

His laugh wasn't pleasant.

"Thirty-eight...much too old for you."

"No you're not. I'm twenty-two, nearly twenty-three." she said haughtily.

He laughed again, a sound that suffused her with warmth, but this time it was lighter and free of bitterness.

"Practically in your dotage, ma petite."

Reluctantly he disengaged himself from her hands and stood up.

"I think it is time you went inside."

She got to her feet and looked up at him, not wanting to part with him just yet, but nodding anyway.

"Good night then, Erik. Sleep well."

She stood on her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his mouth.

He bent down, putting his hands on her shoulders, and deepened the kiss, being drawn back into her sweetness quite willingly.

"Good night...mon amour." he said softly.

The last was said so quietly, it went unheard by Christine.

He released her and waited until she went inside, then he quickly and silently made his way up to his apartment.

Opening the door, he sensed a presence in the room.

He looked at the easy chair...where Nadir Khan was seated.

He was surprised to see his friend, but as usual hid it well.

"Daroga," he greeted him. "Was your information so very important that you needed to deliver it in person?"

He walked into the room and went to the tiny kitchen, where he got two glasses and a bottle of merlot.

He poured them each a glass, then pulled out the desk chair, and straddling it backwards, faced the Persian and took a drink.

"It is interesting no doubt, my friend, but there was no real reason to remain in Paris any longer."

He took a sip of his own wine, rolling it around in his mouth.

"Where are you staying?"

"I have a room in town near the college."

Erik nodded, then got down to the matter at hand.

"What did you find on de Chagny?"

"He spent six years with the Navy Seals. Served with valor, I might add, and after quite a bit of action, returned home and took part in the family business."

"Which is?"

"They own a chain of jewelry stores in the northeast, mostly in Pennsylvania, but some also in Maryland as well. Quite reputable and very lucrative."

Nadir stood up and walked to the window, feeling very tired all of a sudden. It had been a long day.

"The younger de Chagny is becoming more involved in the business also."

Erik's eyes flared at the mention of Raoul.

"I do not care to hear about that insolent boy, daroga, if you please. What do you know of the elder de Chagny?"

He was becoming impatient.

Whether it was with Nadir or himself, he could not say.

He needed to focus on the job at hand, but his thoughts always rebounded to Christine.

It was not like him at all.

The Persian cleared his throat, sensing a clear dislike for Raoul de Chagny and curious as to why.

"Five years ago, Philippe de Chagny became a mercenary. He might have had a specific reason for doing so. There can be quite a bit of money made in that line of work, but I doubt if that was the only reason."

"Highly dangerous as well. Why leave his family and go back to a life lived on the edge of a knife, hmm?"

"La noblesse."

"Excusez-moi?"

"The de Chagny's were at one time, members of the French nobility...la noblesse. They came from the ancien regime-a very old and proud family. Of course, that means nothing in this country, but if the title would have continued, Philippe would have been the Comte de Chagny."

He paused and rubbed the back of his neck.

Erik stayed silent waiting for the Persian to get to the point.

Knowing that the de Chagnys were of noble blood did little for him. In fact, his dislike only grew.

"The point is?"

"As you know, Erik, the blood bath in your country that was the peasant revolt against the aristocracy, ended the use of titles until 1852, when they were restored. But the nobility in France, was essentially over and carries no real weight now.

"However, anyone with a legitimate claim to a title can seek to have it confirmed by the minister of justice in an official decree. Philippe filed a petition to get back his title. His claim was denied. Being an American probably didn't help him very much."

Erik's mouth quirked. He set his wine glass down and got up.

Pacing around the room, he finally stopped and regarded his friend.

"Ah...so what you are trying to _imply_ is Philippe de Chagny was so enraged at the loss of the family title; a title I might add that means next to nothing, that he is willing to aid in the destruction of the French government in retaliation?

"How absurd!"

"No Erik, I'm not implying that specifically, but he may have aligned himself with a terrorist group with much more grandiose plans.

"His claim being turned down was only the catalyst for him. The money he would receive for the assassination of the president, would be his ultimate motivation."

The Persian paused and looked significantly at Erik.

"I truly believe we have found the identity of the assassin."

Erik snorted. "How can you be so certain he is the one?"

"Because it all fits together. De Chagny's military training, not to mention his mercenary background. And there were witnesses to his anger at the denial of his claim in the French government."

Nadir sighed and blearily looked at his friend.

"Sometimes truth is much stranger than fiction. And Americans, I think, are easily impressed with titles since they have none, you see. Philippe knows his ancestry is noble, therefore he wants to be known as the comte, which he considers his birthright.

"Ever since he was a child, his father probably filled his head with stories _he_ had been told in turn. Not so difficult to believe that his resentment is leading him to go too far. At least consider de Chagny as someone to watch, Erik. And now that I'm here, we'll be better able to do so."

Erik looked at the Persian thoughtfully.

"Why would he try to harm Chr...Mademoiselle Daae? It makes no sense, daroga."

"There is no proof he did. What happened to Ms. Daae, was in all probability, a robbery attempt and nothing more."

Erik shook his head, still not convinced. He sighed heavily.

"Very well, we will consider him as a possibility and act accordingly. And now, mon ami, good night."

Erik ushered the Persian to the door.

"How is the lovely Ms. Daae?"

"None of your business, daroga."

"And a good evening to _you_, my friend." Nadir smirked and walked away.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX 

Christine awoke early on the morning of July 1st and stretched languidly.

She lay there thinking of her evening with Erik. She shivered, remembering his arms holding her close.

She hoped there would never come a time when it would only _be _memories, but he wasn't here forever, was he?

That thought depressed her, so she got out of bed and padded into the bathroom for a shower.

She was working in town today and it was bound to be busy at the store.

After all, this was the anniversary of the first day's battle and there were a lot of people spending the weekend in Gettysburg.

She showered and dressed in a print skirt and a white sleeveless blouse. She hurried into a pair of sandals, ran a brush through her blonde hair and left the room.

After a quick breakfast, she went out the front door and nearly collided with Erik.

He put his arms out to catch her.

"Christine! Good morning. May I introduce a colleague of mine to you?"

He turned and that's when she noticed the tall man standing beside him.

Of course, he wasn't as tall as Erik...not too many men were.

"Mademoiselle Christine Daae, Nadir Khan."

Christine looked at the man standing in front of her.

He was older than Erik by about ten years. He was dark...he had the look of a man from one of the Middle Eastern countries, with startling green eyes in his swarthy face.

Nadir in turn, studied the woman who had stolen his friend's heart.

She was pretty and petite, with a heart shaped face and a slender build.

But more than that, she had a gentle and friendly look about her. Her blue eyes were soft and kind.

Quite the opposite of the Phantom.

Erik with a pretty woman.

Allah.

Erik with _any_ woman was a shock.

Nadir took her hand. "It's very good to meet you, Ms. Daae."

"Please...call me Christine."

"Of course. Likewise, Christine...Nadir to you."

Erik got her attention again, not liking the Persian's admiring glances her way.

"May I see you later this evening, Christine?"

"Yes. I have to work today until 6:00, but later will be fine."

As they parted, Nadir couldn't help but notice the tender looks the pair were giving each other.

Erik he could understand. Christine was a beautiful young woman, and the Persian could clearly see that his friend was head over heels in love for the very first time.

Hard.

But Christine was not so easy. Erik was not the average looking man by any means; in fact, most would classify him as hideous.

Of course, there was much more to Erik Reauchard than just his lack of male beauty.

He was a very intelligent man, nearly a genius, with a wealth of special talents and an arresting voice that just begged to be heard.

He was also a bonafide killer.

Most women couldn't get past his aura of menace and his masked face, to see what lay beneath.

Perhaps Ms. Daae _was_ special, simply because she could look beyond his grim appearance.

His friend had lost his heart to her. This he knew without a doubt, and if she rejected him, it would kill him.

"She's lovely Erik. I can easily see why you're so taken with her."

Erik said nothing, but Nadir knew his friend as well as anyone _could_ know him. Erik was pleased that the Persian realized Christine's charms.

Nadir got behind the wheel of his rental, while Erik slid into the passenger seat.

They were headed for the Gettysburg battlefield-the area of the third day's battle. The place where the French president would give his speech on his ancestor and the famous cyclorama painting of Pickett's Charge.

Erik was leaving nothing to chance when the president gave his speech, therefore he was going to look at all angles of the area. He was if anything, thorough.

They would be at the sight of Pickett's Charge until mid-afternoon.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Gettysburg was busy just as Christine thought it would be.

Cars and travel trailers moved slowly along Baltimore St., while tourists strolled the sidewalks in the summer heat, visiting the shops and restaurants scattered nearly everywhere in the famous town.

Timeless Treasures had their share of customers. Both her and Meg were kept busy nearly the entire day. They each took a half hour break, but for the most part, never stopped until Lillian came in at 6:00.

The two women walked out together, heading for their cars. "Hey...follow me home, Meg. You can have supper with us, okay?"

"Sure, why not? My mother probably isn't expecting me home yet anyway. Besides, Mama Valerius is a better cook than my mom."

Christine snorted at her friend. 'Don't let your mother ever hear you say that. She prides herself on her lasagna."

They arrived back at the house and were making their way to the kitchen for iced tea, when Christine spied Erik and Nadir in the parlor.

Erik stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in and approached her.

Meg took in her first sight of Erik and her jaw dropped.

Christine glanced at her friend and frowned at her.

"Uh...close your mouth, Megan before the flies get in. He doesn't enjoy being gawked at." she muttered sideways.

"Sorry." she whispered back.

Christine introduced everyone, then suggested the patio for iced tea.

Erik was having a hard time looking away from her. To him, she always appeared fresh and beautiful.

"Thank you, but instead, would you and Mademoiselle Giry care to join myself and Monsieur Khan for dinner at a restaurant of your choice?"

He looked hopefully at Christine, silently willing her to agree.

Christine in turn, looked at Meg, who shrugged and nodded.

"Fine with me."

Christine turned back to Erik and smiled.

"We accept, Messieurs. I have just the place too. The Cashtown Inn has good food and is fairly quiet, even with all the crowds this time of the year. Just allow Meg and myself to freshen up, then we can leave."

Erik gave her a slight bow, before the two women left the room.

Meg looked thoughtfully at her friend.

"Um, Erik is certainly interesting."

Christine sighed softly. "I'll never be able to forget him."

"That makes two of us." Meg muttered.

"Did you say something, Meggie?"

Meg cleared her throat and walked a little faster.

"Nope, not me."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N I'm posting this chapter a little earlier than I normally do. We're going away for the weekend...Gettysburg, actually. Maybe I'll see a certain masked man while I'm there. If I do, I'll give him your love. *wink* To everyone reviewing...thank you. This chapter is for you guys. Enjoy.**

Philippe was in his study when he heard a noise in the hall.

It was one of many.

The house was a beehive of activity with the masquerade taking place the very next day.

Security itself was tight.

To the casual observer, the house and grounds were crawling with trade people setting up for the ball.

It was, but because of the number of illustrious guests attending, and the fair number of politicians set to be among them, there was a contingent of secret service operatives present, making certain that everyone on the premises was legitimate.

"Raoul, is that you?" he bellowed.

Raoul appeared in the doorway, sweaty and disheveled from his four mile run.

"Can we make this quick, Phil? I need a shower."

Philippe gestured to the chair in front of his desk and leaned back.

"I thought you'd be interested in what I found out about that masked man over at Valerius'."

Raoul perked up at that and sat down.

"What've you got?"

Philippe studied the printout in front of him, then looked up at his brother.

"You were one lucky s.o.b., brother. This Reauchard, if he's one and the same, is a killer. He's an assassin, and has been paid by just about every country between here and Timbuktu to lighten the population."

He turned the fax around so his brother could see the information for himself.

Raoul whistled as he read Erik's history.

"Shit. Is this guy for real?" he exclaimed. "Wait till I tell Christine! He's known as the Phantom?"

He looked at his brother in disbelief.

A cold light came into Philippe's eyes as he glared at his brother. "You _will_ stay away from Reauchard. You're no match for one such as he."

"Isn't what he does illegal or something?" Raoul gestured to the paper between them.

"He's not James Bond, is he? Wouldn't one of those countries have arrested him for murder by now?"

Philippe chose his words carefully, keeping in mind that Reauchard's line of work and his own former life were very nearly similar.

"You don't seem to understand. Most of these countries have been the ones to hire him. The _governments_ are the employers, Raoul."

He paused and said in a quieter tone.

"He's been predominantly a political assassin and a damned good one." He said it with a certain grudging respect.

"But a...what is it, Phil...a Punjab lasso? What the hell is that?"

Philippe looked at his younger brother soberly.

"It's a catgut garrote. Apparently it's his usual method of killing."

There was a tap on the door and Andre Moncharmin stuck his head inside.

"You wanted to see me, Philippe?"

"Yes, come in Andre. I need to ask you about something."

Moncharmin sat down and looked expectantly at his host.

"How may I be of help?"

Philippe tapped the fax in front of him.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Erik Reauchard?"

Moncharmin reasoned to himself, that acknowledging _some_ facts about the Phantom would be a wise thing to do.

But only a little.

"I've heard of him, yes. He's a nasty piece of work from what I've been told."

Of that, his experience was first hand, but his host was not to know that.

"Are you aware of his weapon of choice?"

Moncharmin looked at Philippe and shrugged.

"If I remember correctly, he prefers to strangle his victims."

"Umhm...Andre, I don't much care for his presence in Gettysburg. To me, it's too much of a coincidence for my taste. I have my party to think about. I've notified the agents assigned to the house and they'll be watching for him also."

"Well, why not go after him now?" Raoul asked. "We know where he's staying."

His brother shook his head. "Because he's not wanted for anything and he hasn't broken any laws."

Moncharmin looked at Philippe, wondering if he should ask him about the presence of the French president at the meeting tomorrow night.

Would he get a truthful answer if he did?

Andre very much doubted if he would and decided against it.

Besides, by the time the meeting took place in the library, he planned on being far away from Gettysburg and on his way back to Paris.

With that in mind, he spoke up.

"Leave it to me, Philippe. I'll be watching like the veritable hawk I am for any sign of him tomorrow. He won't get past us now, will he?"

Raoul rolled his eyes at that.

He had never been very impressed with Andre Moncharmin. Even less so now.

"Thank you, Andre. You relieve my mind."

But the look that the brothers exchanged said something entirely different.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

They were taking Erik's car to dinner, and moving quickly without seeming to, he gently steered Christine to the passenger side in front and opened the door for her.

Meg climbed into the back seat behind Christine and looked around the interior of the BMW, liking what she saw.

"Yeah, when I'm ready for a new one, I'm getting one like this." she said admiringly.

Christine looked at her demure gray Malibu sitting in the driveway.

"Mine gets me where I need to go. It's only a car, Meg."

"Of course it does, ma petite." Erik said soothingly. "From point A to point B... that is all that is necessary, no?"

She looked at him in puzzlement.

"Then um...why did you lease this one, Erik, if that's all that matters?"

He said nothing, and began backing out of the parking slot, but Nadir looked pointedly at her.

"Because _he_ wants to get from point A to point B fast, Christine."

She glanced at her car again; the Persian caught her look and smiled.

"Faster than that." he said.

"Oh."

Erik reached over and squeezed her hand.

The Persian observed his friend from the backseat, as Erik handled the powerful car with his usual skill, shifting the gears smoothly.

To see Erik in love for the very first time was fascinating.

For him to feel that particular emotion at nearly forty years of age, must bewilder the man to no end.

The fearless Phantom brought down by Cupid's arrow and wielded by such a sweet, unsuspecting young woman as Christine Daae, who had no idea of just whom she was dealing with.

And for her to reciprocate that love, was even more puzzling.

He turned to Ms. Giry and they chatted the few minutes it took to arrive at the inn.

The red brick two story Cashtown Inn, sat on a gentle grade of the old Chambersburg Pike, rising gradually toward South Mountain.

In late June of 1863, it seemed to the inhabitants of the tiny village of Cashtown, that the whole rebel army had descended on them.

In reality, it was the vanguard of General A.P. Hill's 3rd Corp.

The inn, built in the late 18th century, sat at the crossroads of the village.

It had served the travelers of the nearby turnpike for years, offering a meal and a warm bed.

The owner of the inn was purported to take only cash for payment, hence the name.

It became an armed camp during the Gettysburg campaign, housing confederate officers and their staff, while the battle at Gettysburg raged eight miles to the east.

The inn had seen much in its history and now it served as a charming bed and breakfast, with a cozy fireside tavern and Victorian dining room, plus the added benefit of the claims that it was haunted.

As they walked up to the wide wooden porch, Christine glanced at Erik, who kept pace beside her.

"We'll ask for the dining room. It'll be much quieter for us. Most diners this time of the evening, will be in the tavern and it's not very large."

He nodded. He understood perfectly her meaning and was grateful to her.

Less staring and whispering.

They were met at the desk in the homey front room by the host, who to his credit, looked at Erik as he would any man, after a small start of surprise.

The four of them followed him down the hall and into the lavish and colorful dining room, with its rich mahogany floors and wainscoting.

Erik had requested a corner table in the back of the room.

After the ladies had been seated, he sat down facing the room with his back to the wall.

He would no more expose his unprotected back, as give away his home's location to his worst enemy.

Their waitress came to take the drinks order for their table. She stared at Erik until Christine finally had enough.

"Excuse me, but do you think you could maybe, take our order? I don't think it's part of your job to make the customers uncomfortable, is it?"

She mumbled an apology, her face turning red, then nervously took their drinks request and hurried away.

Erik had said nothing, but simply stared back at the waitress, having received much worse in his lifetime.

He looked thoughtfully at Christine. She was what she seemed...a lovely young woman with a gentle demeanor, but he wagered she had a bit of the Viking in her blood.

To think he had brought out that particular reaction in her, gave him a surge of hope.

No one had ever felt the need to defend him.

Meg caught her friend's eye and gave her a thumbs up. Christine's anger had evaporated and now she felt only embarrassment at having caused a scene.

The other diners after witnessing the set-down, returned to eating their dinners, purposely ignoring the _elephant _in the room.

The Persian had been vastly amused by the small scene with the waitress.

To think that the diminutive Ms. Daae felt the need to protect a killer of the Phantom's caliber was ludicrous indeed.

But touching all the same.

Christine despised the way Erik was treated by others.

He _was_ different...she understood that very well...her reaction at first, had been similar.

The decent ones were the exception.

Too many, simply looked their fill and a few even pointed at him, as if he couldn't see them.

She felt sympathy toward him, understanding that his existence had been mostly an uphill battle for acceptance his entire life.

It saddened her to realize this, but also filled her with a fierce protectiveness which surprised her.

He was hardly a victim. He was smart and perceptive...no one's fool, but she cared about him.

She looked at Erik now, and smiled as they perused their menus.

"What looks good to you?"

"The duck with chipotle pico-de-gallo." He set his menu down and took a sip of his wine. "What would you like, ma petite?"

"Um, the Chilean blue mussels, I think."

While they waited for their meals, the women regaled them with the story of their stay overnight in the Pettigrew room at the inn.

"It all started when Chris and I decided to debunk the idea of ghosts at the Cashtown."

Meg giggled and looked at Nadir.

She was still nervous around Erik and he certainly didn't warm up much to her.

He only had eyes for her friend.

Christine buttered a warm roll and took a bite, then looked at the two men.

"We were daring each other to go through with it, on Halloween night no less." she said.

"And what did you see, ma belle?"

Christine shrugged. "Nothing really." She hesitated and Meg spoke up.

"It wasn't what we saw...it was what we smelled and heard mostly."

The two men looked at them in silence while their dinners were served.

"We spent the evening in the tavern having a few drinks and socializing. Ha...everyone was telling ghost stories, trying to frighten us, I think." Meg stated, taking a bite of her steak.

Christine glanced at Erik, aware of his intense gaze on her.

"We went upstairs around 11:00, and got ready for bed. We talked for a while, then eventually fell asleep."

She paused and took a sip of water.

"The doorknob rattling, woke me up around 1:30."

"Yeah." Meg said. "She woke me up, shaking the stuffin' outta me. I turned on the lamp beside the bed and the noise stopped."

Christine took up the tale.

She laughed and shook her head.

"There we were, wee hours of the morning, hugging each other and afraid to get out of bed. But together, we worked up the courage and approached the door _very_ cautiously."

"Yeah," Meg snorted. "If we'd moved any slower, we wouldn't have reached it till noon."

Erik, surprising all of them with a laugh said, "Well at least you were moving in the right direction and not going out the window. What happened next?"

Christine and Meg exchanged amused glances.

"Uh well...neither one of us wanted to be the one to open the door, so it devolved into a double dog scenario."

Erik and Nadir looked at Meg, puzzled at her meaning.

"She means, we um...egged each other on until I'd finally had enough and simply opened the door."

"And?"

Christine sighed. "Nothing we could see, but we both smelled cigar smoke. And before you say it...no, there wasn't anyone there, and I will _swear_ that there never was. At least nothing living."

"I believe you, Christine." Erik said softly.

Meg caught Erik looking at her friend.

She still didn't understand Christine's attraction to him. He gave _her_ the willies, but she _was_ envious of the adoration she saw in his strange eyes when he looked at Chris.

She could admit one teeny thing to herself. Erik's speaking voice was a small slice of heaven.

Meg abruptly changed the subject.

"My friend here is playing Cinderella and going to her first ball tomorrow night, isn't that so, Chris?"

"Ah...is that right, Christine? And do you have a Prince Charming?" the Persian asked.

Christine blushed and turned automatically toward Erik, who was observing her quietly.

"Um, I was invited by my friend. Nothing more than that."

Erik visibly relaxed, and when the waitress returned with the check, he counted out some bills, leaving her a hefty tip as well.

The waitress looked at him, ashamed of her earlier behavior.

"Thank you, Sir. Have a good evening."

Erik gave her a curt nod, then placing his hand at the small of Christine's back, ushered her from the dining room.

They slowly made their way out to the car, Erik again, deftly steering Christine to the front passenger side.

Meg winked at Nadir. "Looks like we'll always be relegated to the back seat with _her_ around."

The Persian chuckled. "So I see."

Christine turned and gave her friend a pointed stare.

"Would you care to take my place, Megan?"

"Ah, no thanks. Nadir might miss me."

Meg gave him a weak smile and turned to look out the window.

She watched the scenery outside the car sliding by and thought that Christine's new _boyfriend_, was the most interesting thing to hit Gettysburg in years.

She looked at her friend shrewdly, who as usual was looking at Erik, and smiled.

Christine thought so too.


	15. Chapter 15

Returning to the house, Christine invited everyone into the parlor.

She walked over to Erik and threaded her arm through his.

"Will you play for us?" she asked softly, looking up at him.

"Of course. Will you sing for me?"

She nodded and together they approached the piano.

Meg and Nadir sat on the couch, looking expectantly at the couple seated on the bench.

Meg was in no hurry to go anywhere; she was staying overnight to help Christine prepare for the masquerade the following evening; she settled back to enjoy a little entertainment and some passable piano skills.

The opening chords of a Mozart sonata startled her.

She wasn't very knowledgeable about music, but she knew enough to recognize true talent when she heard it.

His unnaturally long fingers had no problem spanning an octave and possibly a thirteenth, as they glided over the keys with the surety of a virtuoso.

He played beautifully.

She noted that his eyes appeared to be closed as he played, fingers performing an intricate dance across the keyboard, his feet working the pedals smoothly.

He swayed slightly, as he put himself into the language he understood better than any other.

Christine sat quietly beside him, mesmerized by the music.

It was a rapturous melody, with a thread of yearning through it, that was quite literally moving her to tears.

When the last notes played out, the room was silent, then Meg started clapping.

"Maestro. That was lovely! You are very, very good."

He opened his eyes and inclined his head at Meg.

Then he looked down at Christine.

"And what do you think, ma petite?"

She looked up at him and smiled.

"I agree with Meg. It was wonderful, Erik. Thank you."

He took her hand in his. "It was my pleasure. And now, will you sing for me?"

She nodded and he played while she warmed her voice.

After a few minutes she asked, "What would you like?"

For an answer he started playing the Jewel Song, the aria from the opera, Faust.

Christine stood in the curve of the piano, and at his nod, she pushed her slight frame straighter, put her shoulders back and took a deep breath from her diaphragm.

She began singing in her precise and strong soprano, hitting the higher notes with very little strain.

As she sang-Ah! Je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir-, Erik felt a frisson of pure delight race up his spine, falling in love with her a little more.

Her voice was his siren call and he shivered again, knowing he could spend a lifetime listening to her clear and beautiful tones.

When the aria ended they simply looked at one another, while Meg and Nadir felt like intruders.

Christine, feeling a little self-conscious, returned to sit beside him on the bench.

"Beautiful, my dear." Erik said, taking her hand.

"You two are great together." Meg said admiringly.

She had to admit, Christine's Frenchman was quite a different man at the piano.

He was the best she'd ever seen.

She joined Christine at the Majestic Community Theatre for the productions they put on every year.

Meg enjoyed dancing more than anything else, and realized Erik would be a wonderful accompanist for their group, or maybe even musical director.

Hell, forget community theatre.

He should be performing at Carnegie Hall.

She spoke up before she could think about it.

"Hey Erik, uh... what popular songs do you know? Any show tunes?"

"No, I do not. Perhaps if I had the music..."

Christine got up and walked over to a cabinet along the wall.

Opening the double doors, she grabbed a stack of sheet music and started going through it, until she came to one particular song and pulled it out of the stack.

She brought it back to Erik, then sat beside him once more.

He glanced at it, then put it on the music stand in front of him.

He placed his hands on the keys and started playing the opening bars of If I Loved You, from the musical, Carousel.

When he began singing in his rich tenor, everyone listened closely, entranced by the lilting tones and emotional outpouring in the lyrics.

It was obvious to everyone in the room, that the masked man was singing for only one of their number.

Meg watched him in profile, noting his sinister appearance and how it clashed so tellingly with the beautiful sounds coming from his throat, and those he coaxed from the piano.

If she thought his speaking voice was wonderful, listening to his singing was devastating.

He was clear and concise at the lower register and achingly sweet at the higher.

She was confounded to feel a lump in her throat at the plaintive yearning she heard in Erik's voice.

She closed her eyes and felt her soul melting at the luscious sound filling the room.

She was finally beginning to understand some of the attraction Christine felt for him.

He tilted his head and looked at Christine imagining that they were alone in the room. When he sang, it was for her alone.

The evening was spent going through the stacks of sheet music, taking requests from everyone.

Mama Valerius joined them for a while, showing up with hot tea and chocolate cake, even getting Erik to play Moonlight Sonata for her.

All too soon the evening ended, and Erik realized something that was to him rather profound.

He had enjoyed himself in a gathering. Something he never would have thought possible.

But perhaps it wasn't the others so much. Maybe it was all due to the young woman at his side.

She made him _want_ to be as normal as he could manage.

Before the get together ended for the night, Erik and Christine performed Otello and Desdemona's love duet from the opera.

His voice was a wonderful counterpoint to Christine's. They sang to each other, caught up in the moment, Erik's eyes blazing with love and desire.

If singing together could show compatibility alone, these two should be together for life, Meg thought.

Christine couldn't take her eyes off of him.

When the duet ended, there was complete silence in the room.

Christine slipped her hand over his, still resting on the keys.

"Erik," she whispered.

They said good night to Nadir, then Meg left to get ready for bed.

Last to leave was Erik.

They stood in the foyer after everyone left, not saying anything.

Finally he broke the silence and let out a sigh.

"We shall both be very busy tomorrow."

He looked at her with tenderness and pulled her gently toward him.

"I would like nothing better than to spend my entire day with only you, but I have business to attend to and unfortunately, so do you." he said regretfully.

She leaned into him and slipping her arms around his narrow waist, looked up at him and smiled wistfully.

"I wish you were going with me to the masquerade. We could have a wonderful time together."

He framed her face with his bony hands and gently touched his lips to hers.

He pulled back and smiled.

"I have no doubt of that, Christine."

He gave her one last kiss, which she returned enthusiastically, then he reluctantly let her go.

"Good night, my dear."

He was nearly to the stairs, when she called out to him.

"Erik..."

She sounded hesitant...anxious.

He walked back to her, concerned.

She wasn't sure what she'd been about to say. She only knew how she felt.

She hugged him tightly and he wrapped her in a snug embrace.

They stood there silently, content for the moment, then finally he whispered, "What is it?"

She shook her head. "N-Nothing. I just wanted you to know...I enjoyed myself tonight. Thank you for dinner."

He felt warmth envelope him and a strange feeling of urgency to declare himself to her.

He tipped her chin up and kissed her lightly on the mouth, then regarded her silently for a moment.

"Christine," he murmured, taking the plunge. "Je t'aime, mon amour. I love you."

He watched her face carefully for her reaction, his heart in his throat.

"I...I love you too." she whispered.

He shook his head, not believing what he'd just heard.

He felt a lightness of spirit, and hope was present again in a heart that had given it up years ago.

But he remained uncertain as to what his treacherous ears had actually heard.

Because it was impossible. No one could love _him_.

"What did you say? Please...what did you just say to me?"

Christine looked deep into his eyes. She saw love there, but also a plea.

He wasn't certain if he'd heard her correctly.

Or maybe he just couldn't believe her.

Well, she would set him straight.

She cupped his masked face with both hands, one thumb lightly caressing his lower lip, all the while holding his gaze.

"I love you, Erik."

She said it clearly and precisely, so there was no doubt this time.

She watched his reaction, saw the shock those four words had caused.

She was humbled by his love for her.

_He_ felt light and hollowed out...blown away, much like thistle is when caught in a breeze and sent floating on a current of air.

Happiness he had never known before engulfed him.

No one had ever said those words to him.

He slowly moved his mouth over hers, still stunned at her declaration of love.

"I should be getting to bed...it's nearly midnight." she said finally, rubbing her cheek against his hand.

He felt a moment of panic.

He didn't want to let her go.

If she was out of his sight, he would find this to be a dream...he would be alone again.

Unloved.

He shook his head at the thought.

No. That must never happen. For if it did, he would be lost.

He had to get this business out of the way before they could move forward.

He was impatient now for tomorrow to come and go, so he could concentrate solely on loving Christine.

He placed a kiss on her forehead and painfully let her go.

"Bonne nuit, mon coeur."

"Good night."

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"Say it again."

She turned and looked at him, feeling a nearly overwhelming tenderness grab hold of her.

"I love you, Erik."

His eyes glowed as he watched her walk away.

Christine headed for her bedroom, turning off lights around the apartment as she went.

Mama and Lucy had turned in a good while ago and Meg was already asleep.

She showered quickly, and getting into her pajamas, slipped into bed.

She lay there tiredly, willing sleep to come, but her thoughts kept returning to Erik and her confession of love.

When he had walked away from her, she had felt a curious mixture of yearning and disquiet.

Before she realized her intent, she had called him back to her.

She felt such love for him in that moment. The words had slipped out before she could stop them.

She knew so very little about him and his face was _still_ a mystery to her.

How many women can say that they love a man they would never recognize, because they've no idea what he looks like?

Except for his yellow eyes.

It _was_ disturbing, and there was a modicum of doubt still present about their relationship, but it didn't change the facts...after their duet tonight, she knew one thing for certain finally.

She loved him.

That knowledge raised her spirits, but they would need to take this slower. There was still so much unknown to her.

Perhaps his other worldliness had her seeing shadows. She resolved to put this foolishness behind her and with that last thought, she gave herself up to sleep.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

At Chagny, Andre Moncharmin answered his phone, already impatient, his nerves stretched tight.

"Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to call hours ago."

He listened for a few minutes, then asked the caller.

"How will you get in?"

He let out a rusty laugh, then nodded his head.

"Very good. I'm impressed."

He lowered his voice.

A nervous edge crept into it.

"Between the two of us we should be able to take care of the Phantom. I'm more than ready to end this."

He listened a moment longer, then said in a near whisper, "The girl _was_ a stroke of good fortune...you're absolutely right. I have to admit...he's much easier to deal with when he's love-sick. He's almost human.

"By tomorrow this time, we'll have used a dove to catch a crow."


	16. Chapter 16

"Christine, you look absolutely adorable!" Mama fussed with the puff sleeves on the young woman's gown, while Meg made sure her angel wings were attached securely.

The wings weren't very large.

They were simply there for the illusion of angelic splendor and complimented the halo around the crown of her blonde head.

To complete her costume, she had a white domino sprinkled with silver glitter, which Meg helped adjust to her face.

It felt awkward wearing the mask, which in turn led her thoughts back to Erik.

He had spent a lifetime wearing one, always seeing the world slightly askew.

"Raoul should be here any minute...hand me my white shawl, would you, Meggie?"

"Geez, Christine, your Frenchman should see you now."

"I wish he was going with me instead of Raoul."

"Hush now, you don't want Raoul hearing you say that, Christine." Mama said.

One last look in the mirror and Christine left the room and headed out to the foyer followed by the others.

Raoul was indeed waiting for her, looking dashing as a swashbuckler, with a long brocaded coat and plumed hat, a sword hanging from one hip and a gold mask dangling from his hand.

He whistled when he looked admiringly at Christine and handed her a wrist corsage of tiny white and pink rosebuds.

"Wow! You look great, Chris." He held his arm out to her. "Shall we? There's supposed to be a full moon tonight...just right for the belle of the ball."

They said their goodbyes and departed, Christine looking in vain for Erik.

She rather felt like a fairy princess with the charming prince escorting her to the ball.

But she would much rather have what most would consider the ogre in the fairytale beside her.

Disappointed that she hadn't seen _him_, she touched the Persian coin at her throat, determined to have a good time at her first ball.

It should prove to be an exciting evening.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Erik parked his car behind the ruins of the old shed, then made his way on foot to the grated tunnel he'd discovered a week prior.

The moonlight lit up the clearing to an alarming degree, but he checked the perimeter for signs of others besides himself, seeing no recent evidence of anyone.

He kept to the shadows by ingrained habit, moving soundlessly.

He quickly opened the grate and slipped through the opening, landing cat-like on his feet.

He retraced his steps to the mansion, noting that his sets of footprints were still the only ones.

He had returned the night before to explore the other tunnels branching out from the main.

They had indeed led to other areas of the house- the mansion was honeycombed with them.

Within a short amount of time he arrived in the library.

He had told the Persian of his discovery and had even shown him the woods where the passage culminated, but they had agreed that the wiser course was to split up and come in at separate times.

He moved over to the heavy oak doors and cracked one open slightly.

The corridor was clear, so he stepped into the hallway, adjusting his mask as he went along.

As he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he joined the stream of party-goers moving in the direction of the ballroom.

He searched the crowd looking for Christine, but failing to find her, Erik surmised that she was already there.

And that's where he headed.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Christine and Raoul entered the ballroom, the swirl of color and sound making her gasp.

Here an Indian princess, there a George Washington, but more Civil War generals and Southern belles than anything else.

Clearly, the theme of the night was Pickett's Charge.

A waltz started up and Raoul made a gallant bow.

"May I have this dance, my lady angel?" he grinned at her.

Christine gave a sweeping curtsy and moved into his arms.

They joined the other dancers, the crowd growing as more people arrived.

Raoul led her in graceful sweeps around the polished floor, enjoying her excitement.

He pointed out his brother Philippe, looking dashing in white tie and tails, wearing a black domino.

"You know Chris...my brother told me something the other day about your Mr. Reauchard."

"Oh, and what would that be? Nothing good I'll bet coming from you."

She gave him a sour look, which didn't escape his notice.

"Look," he sighed and pulled her closer...she in turn, pulled back from him, "I'm only thinking of _your_ welfare. You're not going to believe this, but Erik Reauchard is a dangerous man. He's an assassin known as the Phantom."

Christine stiffened in his arms and stared at him annoyed.

"_You're_ being ridiculous, Raoul and you know it. I don't care _what _your brother _thinks_ he knows about Erik. You've hated him since he arrived in Gettysburg, so you'd believe anything bad about him, wouldn't you?"

They had nearly come to a complete stop on the dance floor, but Raoul finally got her moving again.

"There's just a small matter of him trying to _throttle_ me, but no harm done, right Christine?"

She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down.

"I'm sorry. I guess I overreacted. Um... I think we need to sit down and have a talk, but not here, okay?"

He nodded reluctantly.

"But soon, all right? I just want you to be safe."

Christine lightly squeezed his hand, but her buoyant mood was gone.

Raoul wasn't the only one she needed to talk with.

A certain masked man had some serious explaining to do.

Philippe stood there talking with Napolean Bonaparte, both of them holding champagne flutes and carrying on an animated conversation.

They both paused when behind them a tall figure wearing a fantastic blood red costume and full-face skull mask, glided into the room and made straight for Raoul and Christine.

Erik had spoken briefly with Nadir to let him know he was inside the mansion.

In a few hours, it would all be over. He would be well hidden in the library, awaiting the arrival of the planning committee and hopefully the assassin.

The president wouldn't be there.

But _he_ would.

He had followed the steady stream of costumed revelers into the ballroom, noting that he was the subject of many whispers and finger pointing.

But for once he didn't mind at all.

He saw _her_ nearly from the moment he entered the room and she was indeed a vision in white.

"My beauty." he said softly.

His steps with no conscious thought took him straight to her.

After the music ended, Raoul pulled Christine to the side of the dance floor.

He left her standing there, intent on finding them a cool drink.

She feasted her eyes on all the gorgeous gowns worn by the ladies, glad that she too looked her best.

She watched as a man dressed fantastically in brocaded red, wearing a long crimson velvet cloak, walked deliberately toward her, his plumed hat cocked rakishly over one eye.

As he came closer to her, she was startled by the grinning skull mask and the glitter of yellow eyes.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Moncharmin finished his champagne and walked away from Philippe, intent on getting to the library.

He didn't meet many people. Nearly everyone was in the ballroom...including the Red Death.

His friendship with Philippe had provided an excellent place for him to orchestrate events and bring about the fall of a man well hated by many.

His contact had come through on his part of the agreement.

In a particular location in the library, was a substantial amount of money demanded by himself, for Andre would be delivering to his employer, the one man they had wanted dead for years.

And that very man had _also_ paid him well.

A man he himself loathed.

The library was one of the largest of its kind he'd ever seen.

Rows of volumes from floor to ceiling took up much of the space, a spiral staircase disappearing into the gloom of the second floor hiding even more leather-bound tomes.

The tall windows in the back of the room let in substantial amounts of natural light during the day, while beautiful ruby red, cut-glass lamps scattered throughout, would provide plenty of warm light during the night time hours.

A grouping of comfortable leather chairs occupied the area near the fireplace, and a long oak table sat in the very center of the room, tall-backed matching chairs arranged around it.

It was obvious from the drift of papers covering the table, that this room was well used.

He entered the library quietly, moving toward the bookcase near the large mahogany desk and removing the book, A Tale of Two Cities.

In actuality, it was only a clever imitation of a book.

Inside the covers was a hollowed out area for keeping small treasures. In his case, a very tidy sum of money.

Opening it, he looked inside, then froze when he heard a noise near the front of the room.

He looked up in time to see the black muzzle of a gun aimed at him.

His eyes widened in fear.

"You son of a bitch." he breathed, just before the bullet struck him in the chest, sending a bright bloom of pain through him.

He fell bonelessly to the floor, the blood leaving his body at a frightful rate.

He landed face down, breaking his nose in the fall against the hardwood, but somehow he managed to keep his grip on the book.

The book that had nothing in it.

As his vision started to leave him, he considered the fact that he'd been duped.

He had delivered the Phantom, only to be double-crossed in return.

He watched blearily as something was removed from his pocket, wondering idly why he was so very cold.

He barely heard the soft snick of the door as it closed.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Christine could only look up at him, still not quite believing that Erik was standing here with her, looking sinister and breathtaking at the same time.

The skull mask, white as bone, was hideously realistic and disquieting.

With his eyes glittering like yellow chips of glass, it made him a frightful and nightmarish vision.

He bowed low and asked her in a hollow, eerie voice, "Will you do me the honor, Christine?" He gestured to the dance floor, where another waltz had begun.

She simply nodded, and pulling her into his arms, they began to dance.

His arm encircled her waist, while her hand clutched his shoulder, their fingers wrapped around one another's.

"I thought you couldn't dance."

Erik smiled down at his beloved and pulled her closer to him.

"Ah, but I had a most wonderful teacher. She taught me the basic steps."

He shrugged. "Not difficult after watching _them."_

He jerked his chin toward the other couples on the dance floor.

She squeezed the hand she was holding. "I wanted this so much. But how did you get in here? It's invitation only."

"Shh...let's just enjoy our dance, shall we?"

He whirled her elegantly around the ballroom floor, the melodic strains of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, casting magic over them for a few short moments.

More than one couple stopped dancing to observe the tall death-like creature moving with surety and grace, the petite woman in the white gown, held securely in his arms.

His lips quirked in a tender smile beneath the mask. "You look stunning tonight, my dear. An angel indeed." he said admiringly.

Christine smiled at the compliment."Your costume is wonderful, Erik and the mask looks so real."

"You have no idea." he murmured, closing his eyes.

If she could but see that the mask was only a reflection of his true face, he would lose her forever.

This he knew without a doubt.

But was it not the best thing that could happen for her? he thought, knowing the answer would only damn him.

She wanted to ask him a few questions, especially after what Raoul had told her, but then thought better of it.

Obviously, he was much more than he seemed, but hadn't she known that almost from her first meeting with him?

But an _assassin_? Philippe needed a reality check. Erik was a businessman...maybe his _business_ practices were cut-throat, but that was all. He didn't go around _killing_ people...ridiculous.

And now after listening to his brother, Raoul was going all cloak and daggery on her.

Then the thought once planted in her brain took root. Erik had very fast reflexes, not to mention a short fuse...he came and went at odd hours _and_ was good with his hands.

Where had _that_ come from?

She blushed at the thought, but he _did_ seem to be highly skilled at many things, and he moved so silently.

His actions in the Walmart parking lot came back to her, as did his attack on Raoul. He was very familiar with violence.

Could that be the reason he wore a mask? To hide his identity? Again...ridiculous. The mask would surely get too much notice for someone trying to hide in plain sight.

Still...

But an assassin? She snorted...in a book or movie...sure, but not in reality.

She held his hand a little tighter.

They _would_ talk tomorrow...she was going to get to the bottom of this somehow.

Maybe she would make a picnic lunch and they could go to Little Round Top. Erik liked it there as well. They could sit among the trees, well away from other people and have their talk.

She gauged herself for her reaction to him since her friend's revelations and felt much the same as she had before.

She loved him.

"Will you do something for me, ma belle?"

He pulled her in closer and her hand tightened on his shoulder.

Christine, to her credit only hesitated for a moment.

"Of course."

He paused in the dance and came to a stop, pulling her to the side of the crowded room.

He tilted her chin up and looked into her guileless blue eyes.

"Can you trust me and not ask questions if I tell you to go home now?"

She locked gazes with him, searching for an answer as to what he was involved in, the flurry of her earlier thoughts coming back in a rush.

Yet despite what she had learned tonight she still trusted him.

"Uh...Erik, are you in any trouble?"

He shook his head and drew a finger down her cheek.

"I will explain it all later to you, but for now go home...s'il te plait?"

She tried again. "What's going to happen? Does this have anything to do with Raoul? If it does, I'm not going anywhere."

"No. Not de Chagny."

His voice deepened and his gaze held hers, urging her through his will alone to heed him.

"Please, Christine. _Trust_ me?" he pleaded.

She grabbed the lapels of his red coat and gently shook him.

"Okay, okay...I'm going, but I'll be waiting for that explanation." she huffed. "This _is_ my first ball you know."

She sighed a bit dramatically. "I'll just have to go find Raoul. I came with him."

She turned and was swallowed by the crowd lining the edge of the dance floor before Erik could stop her.

He moved forward quickly, intent on catching up with her.

There was more than enough time to escort her back home and return to Chagny before 11:00.

He did not want the boy to take her home.

His feeling of trouble had crept in not long after he had arrived at the manor. Something had not felt right to him and immediately he thought of Christine and getting her away.

He hadn't forgotten the break-in at Timeless Treasures. Although the police had come to the conclusion that an attempted robbery was all it had been, he wasn't as certain.

As soon as he caught up with Christine, he would inform the Persian of his brief absence from Chagny.

He wanted her safe at home and nowhere near any of the events about to unfold.

Someone tapped his shoulder from behind and when he turned, he was looking at Philippe de Chagny.


	17. Chapter 17

Erik quickly glanced once more over his shoulder, but Christine was gone.

His eyes glowed dangerously, and Philippe caught unawares, took a hasty step back.

He had noticed the macabre creature from across the room and had wanted to make his acquaintance.

He wasn't sure who the man was and had decided to find out.

But now he was aware of exactly whom he was facing.

"I think you may know my brother. He told me all about you, especially your penchant for choking people. So humor me, Reauchard, and tell me how the hell you got in here?"

Erik realized he was in trouble and thought hard about a way out of the situation.

Unfortunately, his choices were limited.

The man standing in front of him was tall and well built, with a no nonsense air and shrewd blue eyes.

Help however, came from an unexpected and shocking source.

A man walked quickly up to de Chagny before he had to answer him.

The man spoke softly to Philippe, but Erik heard him quite clearly.

"Your brother was found unconscious in the coatroom...he's just starting to come round."

Erik was already moving away from the two men and melted into the costumed crowd with very little trouble.

"Christine." he whispered.

Philippe glanced around suddenly, noting that Reauchard had slipped away.

He put him momentarily from his mind, intent on seeing to his brother.

Erik walked quickly toward the foyer, his only thought now was finding Christine.

His long strides had nearly gotten him there, when his phone beeped with a text message.

**I HAVE SOMETHING OF YOURS. LIBRARY.**

Erik looked at the sender's address-it was Moncharmin's.

He quelled the rising panic.

He was frightened for her and needed now more than ever to keep his wits about him, for he was fairly certain that the assassin had Christine.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Philippe sat beside his brother on the couch in the living room.

Raoul held a glass of water in one hand and his head in the other.

He was still a little dizzy and his head ached. The doctor who had examined him had insisted on a trip to the hospital, but Raoul had vehemently opposed it.

Philippe had argued with his brother to no avail...stubbornness tended to run in the family.

"I _told_ you, Phil," he said again, "Christine came up to me and said she wanted to leave."

"She didn't tell you why?"

Raoul shrugged. "I asked her and she told me she had a headache and was ready to leave. I remember going to the coatroom for her wrap...and nothing after that until I woke up in here."

He got unsteadily to his feet and faced his brother.

"_Look_...we have to _find_ her. She wouldn't have just walked off and left me, Phil. Someone took her."

"We need to search the house and grounds first."

"She was dancing with_ him_, wasn't she? The man in red was that thing named Erik. I saw them together."

His brother reached over and squeezed Raoul's arm.

"Reauchard was standing right in front of me when you were found. He didn't take her...but he may know who did.

"We'll find her."

Raoul looked wide eyed at Philippe.

"How did he get in here?"

Philippe stood up and walked toward the door, but said over his shoulder.

"He's the Phantom. How the hell do you _think_ he got in?"

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

It was the body lying in a pool of congealing blood that freaked her out.

She felt nauseated and dismayed to have her hands and feet tied.

She had been trussed up like this after coming to the library. The man hadn't been overly rough, but had cautioned her against crying out.

After being restrained and told to keep silent, the man had disappeared from her sight.

She was sitting on one of the leather club chairs, unable to move very much and wondering what had happened.

She had found Raoul and told him she was ready to leave.

He had been surprised and a little put out, but he had agreed to take her home.

When they had gone to the coatroom, a man dressed in the costume of a Chinese emperor had approached them.

Before either of them could react, he had knocked Raoul unconscious and to her great shock, pointed a gun at her.

In a low, hoarse voice, he had told her to be absolutely quiet and he'd directed her to the library.

She now glanced around, noting the oak shelves full of books.

Yes, this room she'd been in many times.

It had always been her favorite at Chagny.

She had always loved the smell of books and all of the different and strange worlds awaiting discovery inside their leather bindings.

She remembered rainy Saturdays as a child, when Raoul and she would sit at the long oak table and play board games until Mr. de Chagny or Philippe would chase them out.

She would avoid this room for the rest of her life.

She could smell the metallic, coppery odor of the man's blood from across the room.

Her breath hitched in her chest and she started to shake.

She was alone in the room with a dead body and she was clueless as to why.

Little whimpers escaped her and panicking, she struggled frantically with her bonds, until she finally slumped in defeat, her wrists and ankles sore.

She heard a slight noise and looked toward the heavy oak doors, frightened as to who she would see.

Was she to join the body on the floor? and trembled at the thought.

The door slowly opened and Erik stood in the doorway, looking quickly around until he spotted her in the chair by the fireplace.

"Erik," she whispered brokenly.

He looked momentarily at the body on the floor, recognizing Moncharmin, then strode to her side in seconds, feeling a shuddering breath leave him when he found her alive and well.

"Someone will die for this." he vowed.

He knelt down in front of Christine and prepared to free her from her bonds, all the while running his eyes over her looking for any injuries.

"My love, a moment."

His hands shook a bit, but he worked at the plastic tie clipped around her wrists.

Christine was overjoyed to see him, still dumbfounded as to what was going on, and worried about the man who had brought her here.

Her eyes welled with tears, but she held herself together, realizing how precarious the situation was.

"Be careful, there's..." she began in a scared whisper.

"Hello Erik. I knew you'd come."

He stiffened, but refused to give in to the jolt of surprise he felt hearing that voice.

"Daroga."

The Persian observed his old comrade and watched his face for any sign of surprise...there was none, only a wariness in his eyes of the situation he found himself in and a way to get out of it.

He knew Erik well, and he was aware of the rage he was no doubt feeling at this moment...rage at Nadir's betrayal and fear for Christine.

He kept his distance from the masked man and relied on the Baretta pistol pointed at his old friend to keep him under control.

The Persian had finally removed his mask, and when he stepped forward, Christine had drawn a sharp breath, clearly shocked.

Erik merely regarded him silently...thoughtfully.

The Persian was aware that the Phantom could strike out quicker than a snake. Taking him to Behzadi would not be easy.

That is where Ms. Daae became important to Nadir. Keeping Erik at bay with the threat of harm to Christine.

He had been near the entrance hall earlier this evening, when Christine and a young man had entered a room across the wide entry from him.

He had decided in that moment, that now would be an opportune time to take the Daae woman.

He was relieved to find the couple alone, and swiftly he had subdued the man, while keeping his eye on Christine. She was badly frightened, but had remained fairly calm.

Nadir felt self-disgust for what he was doing, but knew his options had been nearly zero.

He watched his former friend silently for a moment.

He knew the masked man was positively vibrating with rage.

Erik caressed her cheek, then stood up.

"Why?" His eyes were fiery and glowing, promising the Persian a painful death if he dropped his guard one iota.

Nadir had the grace to look ashamed, but there was fear and worry there as well.

"They have my son, Erik. They have Reza."

Erik couldn't hide the look of surprise this time.

"Who?"

The Persian began speaking in Farsi, unburdening himself for the first time since his son had been abducted.

"Do you remember Amjad Behzadi?"

Erik had tensed beside Christine. Feeling his distress, she raised her hands and grasped one of his tightly.

He let out a breath he wasn't aware of holding, and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Behzadi owned a chain of hotels in the Mid East, but that wasn't his only business. He made himself rich off of the illegal drug trade."

Chrstine looked up at Erik, hearing something in his tone she'd never heard before and feeling afraid.

"Erik?" she said with a tremble in her voice.

He wouldn't look at her, but continued speaking, seemingly devoid of emotion and switching back to English.

"He was a drug baron in the Tehran underworld. My employer, for want of a better word, wanted him liquidated. I set up the hit," he looked at the Persian, "and proceeded to remove him permanently."

He paused and stared at something only he could see...something within his own tortured mind.

"It was a car bomb, rigged and timed by me. Set to go off when he exited the Tehran Theatre of the Performing Arts and entered his car.

"Only he was not alone that night...his wife was with him. His _pregnant_ wife." he whispered.

She felt as if she couldn't breathe.

She had known Erik had a past very different from hers, and Raoul had told her he was a killer, but in the back of her mind she'd doubted the truth of it all.

She put her hands back in her lap and looked at Nadir.

"What happened to them?" she asked softly.

"They were all killed in the explosion. Behzadi's wife was eight months pregnant."

Nadir chanced a look at Christine then.

"Behzadi's grown son from his first marriage is the one who took Reza."

Nadir looked unflinchingly back at Erik. "And I will do whatever it takes to get him back."

The masked man glared at his one-time friend.

"Why didn't you tell me? We could have found him and brought him out safe."

"Do you truly believe that? I couldn't take the risk...they would have _killed_ him. Behzadi thought that the best way to get to you was to use me. I know you better than most and I was aware of your movements most of the time."

The Persian looked sadly at his friend of many years.

"I was given very little choice in the matter, Erik. Reza is all I have."

The Persian waved the gun at him.

"Behzadi the younger requires your presence not more than a few miles from here. He has a very large and ostentatious home just outside Gettysburg. That is why you were lured here. For what it's worth, I am sorry." he said quietly.

The Phantom looked at Nadir shrewdly and said bitterly, "It was never France's president, was it my old _friend_?"

Nadir flinched at the sneer he heard and shook his head.

"No, and I'm fairly certain if you hadn't been preoccupied," he glanced toward Christine, "you would have discovered that for yourself."

Erik kept tight control of the fury that was trying to bubble to the surface.

It served no useful purpose...for now.

Not until he could wrap his hands around the Persian's throat.

"Philippe de Chagny. Another lie of yours?"

Nadir shook his head. "Everything was true concerning de Chagny, except for his bid for the title to be returned. I merely wanted you to look elsewhere for a while. You kept _insisting_ on a name for the assassin. A name I couldn't supply."

He looked over at the body on the floor.

"I gave bogus information to Andre there, and he fed it more than willingly to you. I knew you would be curious as to why he had Buquet follow you. And once you found out Moncharmin was in Gettysburg, you decided to use him for information."

He gestured with the pistol again.

"And now, we had better be on our way, wouldn't you agree?"

"The president was not attending tonight. It was only a ruse for the benefit of the assassin. An assassin that never existed."

Nadir could only shake his head at their cross purposes.

"You were always the quarry, Erik. The hits on the French government were staged by Behzadi's men-very helpful to him in the long run, for he has no love for the French.

"I am afraid though, his hatred for you is much greater...he wants you dead...but unfortunately, he wants you to suffer first."

He jerked his head at Moncharmin's body.

"He was first to go. He knew entirely too much and was totally untrustworthy. He was quite shocked just before I killed him."

He scratched his jaw thoughtfully.

"Untrustworthy, but useful in keeping you guessing and remaining in this area until you could be...taken."

Erik tsked and shook his head at the Persian.

"He was well broken in at the Garnier...a known quantity, and now because of you, that will all change."

Nadir made a face. "He took money from you and he took money from me. Much too greedy for his own good, I would say."

"Why did Behzadi want revenge five years later?"

The Persian looked at his former friend sadly.

"You know very well that people such as Behzadi have all the patience in the world. Five years means _nothing_ to him. His vendetta has been alive and well, just waiting for the right opportunity. The arrival of the president to this town was just that."

Nadir flourished the gun at Erik.

"First, I will require your weapons, if you please."

Erik slowly removed the Sig Sauer 9mm pistol from the holster beneath his jacket and handed it over to the Persian.

Nadir shook his head slightly at his old friend.

"The lasso also, Erik."

He removed the Punjab from his jacket sleeve and handed it to him.

"Free her legs and we will leave this place through the tunnel."

"Let her go, daroga. She has done nothing." Erik's eyes bored into Nadir's.

"I swear that I will accompany you peacefully. I am fond of Reza also."

The Persian smiled faintly.

"What have you always told me? Oaths are only meant to catch gulls with? No, this is the only way...again I am sorry for it. We've gone through much for it to end this way."

Nadir looked at Christine. "I would like nothing better than to let you go, Mademoiselle, but unfortunately, I cannot do that."

Erik knelt in front of Christine and deftly removed the bonds on her feet, rubbing them gently to restore circulation.

When he started on her hands, the Persian stopped him.

"Only her legs. I don't want her to have too much freedom."

Nadir cringed at the look the masked man gave him.

"You shall be barking in hell before this night is over." Erik hissed.

He returned to massaging Christine's ankles, when she stopped him.

"I...I can manage, Erik."

Her voice was distant and she refused to look at him.

He looked up at her, feeling her disgust and despising himself for it.

"I told you Christine, that I am not a good man. Do you believe me now, my dear?"

She heard the pain and despair in his voice, for she felt very much the same as he.

She pushed his hand away when he moved to help her stand.

Nevertheless, he grasped her elbow and pulled her to her feet.

The Persian gestured to the door under the stairs and Erik reluctantly led the way, and followed by Christine and Nadir, the three stepped into the tunnel.

Christine's eyes rested on Erik's tall form in front of her, feeling very torn between the man she knew and the killer he actually was.

And God help her...she still loved him.


	18. Chapter 18

The Persian flicked on the small flashlight in his hand and cast the beam of light ahead of them.

He had entered the mansion through this very tunnel after Erik himself had arrived.

He had waited until the masked man had notified him of his arrival in the mansion, then had proceeded through the passage himself.

The space they were in was narrow and fetid with mildew and rodent droppings. The walls were an uneven brick, with many lying scattered on the passage floor. The ceiling over their heads was nearly seven ft. high and appeared to be solid rock.

"Who was in the store that night? _She_ was frightened nearly to death." Erik's voice was in his left ear, soft and dangerous.

"Behzadi's henchman." Nadir admitted.

The Persian had made the Iranian drug lord aware of the budding relationship between Erik and Ms. Daae, and he had cautioned him about moving too soon.

Behzadi hadn't listened to him, but had sent his thug into the store to kidnap Christine, not realizing that the Phantom was watching his every move.

Behzadi's reasoning had been sound. Take the Daae woman and the Phantom was sure to follow, but that plan had failed.

Instead, Behzadi's man had barely escaped, and with a broken wrist to show for his trouble.

Still, Erik had not been himself. His distraction with Ms. Daae had become their trump card.

Love could indeed bring a man to his knees.

Nadir watched as the masked man scanned the tunnel on both sides of the passage.

He knew very well that Erik had excellent night vision. It was one of his many abilities that had confounded Nadir for years.

He could still at times be in awe of his friend and not surprisingly, afraid of him as well.

He realized that Erik was no doubt planning something at this very moment, but whatever it was, it would be tempered with his need for Christine's safety.

Fear for another human was not an emotion the Phantom was familiar with.

He would go cautiously and strike at the moment he considered to be advantageous. Of that, the Persian had no doubt.

That was Nadir's only means of controlling him.

He regretted his actions and would rue the day he'd been forced to connive with slime like Behzadi. He had never thought overly much about his relationship with Erik, but the Persian _had_ trusted him.

They had worked together for years and had each others' backs countless times in dangerous situations.

He sighed heavily.

The need to have his son safe again had pushed him to act.

But his heart was heavy on this night.

Betraying a man who had saved his very life...a man he had considered his friend, was a terrible thing indeed.

But Reza was his child and Nadir had little choice in the matter.

He _would_ get his son back, Allah willing, but realized his betrayal of Erik would haunt him forever.

Christine moved slowly through the dark, narrow passage, her gown sweeping through the dirt and debris of years.

If she hadn't been so scared, she would have found it amusing that the three of them were slightly overdressed for this dark and dreary tunnel.

Her feet were becoming sore. The silver shoes she was wearing had low heels, but had never been meant for walking great distances.

She shivered, feeling the cold and damp. Erik, as if sensing her discomfort, stopped and removed his cloak, wrapping it around her small form, hands lingering on her shoulders.

Nadir watched him carefully for any sign of trickery.

Christine whispered her thanks, holding the cloak close to her, the scant warmth from his body still in its folds, his scent comforting to her.

He turned and continued walking forward.

She was startled when she heard his sibilant whisper directly in her right ear.

"Trust Erik..._please. _He will not let any harm come to you, ma petite."

Her eyes filled with tears and she swiped a grubby hand across them.

In spite of everything, she found that she still did.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Philippe meanwhile was organizing a search for Christine, his brother already looking in some of the first floor rooms, while others searched the grounds.

The masquerade party had thinned somewhat, but many were still enjoying themselves and awaiting midnight for the unmasking.

Raoul appeared rumpled and tired to his brother and again, Philippe tried to get the younger man to rest.

"You won't be much help brother, if I end up having to carry you." he said.

Raoul ignored him and said abruptly, "Where did he take her? I know that poor excuse for a human had something to do with her disappearing."

They were on their way upstairs to check the bedrooms and library, deciding to start with the library first.

Upon entering the room, they discovered the body of Andre Moncharmin sprawled on the floor in his own blood.

Philippe was no stranger to violence, having spent a good portion of his life dealing in it, but the image of the quiet library being shattered by this shook him.

And the thought crossed his mind, that somehow Andre's death was tied to Christine's absence.

He knelt by the body and examined him quickly for the cause of death, finding the bullet hole in Moncharmin's chest.

"He hasn't been dead very long. I was talking to him less than two hours ago."

He grabbed a throw from the back of a club chair and placed it over the body, the act making Raoul breathe a bit easier.

Philippe then walked around the room looking for any clues as to what happened.

He spied something white lying near one of the chairs and went over and picked it up.

It was a length of thin plastic often used for securing items, or in some instances, people.

Raoul had gone up the spiral staircase and finding nothing, returned to his brother's side looking at the thin plastic.

"What's that?"

Philippe studied it a moment longer, but said nothing.

He walked over to the door under the stairs and turned the knob, surprised to see it unlocked.

"I think whoever killed Andre left through the tunnel and I intend to follow. You go get some of the agents in the house...you know which ones, or the cops. Just get them out here as quick as you can."

Philippe went to the large desk on the other side of the room and opening the drawer, he removed a pair of pistols and checked them for rounds, putting extra clips in his pockets and headed for the door leading to the passage.

Raoul followed behind his brother saying adamantly, "Oh no you don't...I'm going too. Andre isn't going anywhere and that monster has Christine. I know it."

Philippe didn't have the time to argue with him.

"Fine," he snapped, "but stay behind me. In case you didn't notice, brother...Andre was shot to death."

"I noticed." Raoul said faintly.

"Then here, take this," and he handed Raoul one of the Glock semi-automatic pistols.

He made a face, but accepted the gun, knowing Philippe wouldn't let him go unarmed.

They entered the tunnel, listening carefully for signs of movement ahead of them.

Hearing nothing, they moved forward cautiously, both wondering what they were walking into.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Erik knew they were nearly to the end of the tunnel and he was fast running out of time.

His frustration mounted as they neared the end of the passage.

He couldn't act in the tunnel...it was too narrow and an all too real possibility that Christine could be harmed in the close quarters if a fight ocurred.

His best chance to get her away would have to take place while the Persian was climbing out of the tunnel. Nadir would be compromised for approximately ten seconds climbing out...more than enough time to incapacitate him.

He had a knife in his boot. Not that he needed it. In this case, his bare hands would be sufficient.

He sighed heavily.

His only concern was for _her_ safety. It was that very reason which hampered his ability to act.

He had failed abysmally in reading the signs of the daroga's betrayal, and that in turn had led to the danger his angel was now in.

His mind shied away from her opinion of him. He couldn't afford to dwell on her disgust. He needed to focus on the job at hand as he always had in the past.

Nor could he acknowledge the shock of his only friend selling him out.

It _was_ for Reza, but nevertheless the pain was there.

But then, everyone eventually turned from him.

Christine had too and the loss was excruciating.

He turned and looked at her and she started in uneasy surprise.

His strange eyes glowed in the beam from the flashlight. It was uncanny and disturbing, reminding her of nothing more than a large nocturnal animal.

To Erik, her face was pale and tired, the fright of the last hour exhausting her store of energy.

He faced forward and sent his voice into the Persian's ear again.

"I will not beg, daroga, for I fear it would be useless, but if anything happens to her, _anything_ at all..._you_ will die."

The Persian nodded his head, not doubting Erik.

If the man had to come back from the grave, Nadir had no doubt whatsoever about his will to accomplish it.

Erik spoke from ahead. "We are at the end."

"After you, Erik, and remember...my son is what's important to me, so don't try anything _you'll_ regret. And I must caution you on any type of action once you leave the tunnel. We will be joined by Behzadi's men and escorted to his home, so I implore you not to try something foolish. Think of Christine."

Nadir softened his voice and looked at her.

"I don't want to hurt you, Mademoiselle. I just want my son to be safe."

Erik felt his hopes plummet for a quick getaway. He would have to await a better opportunity.

No matter.

He _would_ keep her safe from harm.

He opened the grate and hoisted himself lightly through the opening, then turned and lifted Christine up.

The thought flashed through his mind to grab her and make a run for it, but before the thought could be acted upon, the snap of a twig revealed the presence of the others.

The four men stepped forward, approaching them cautiously, the full moon giving off a bright milky glow and providing the tableau with an eerie incandescence.

He pulled Christine tightly into his side and eyed the approaching men warily.

Christine watched them close in. She was very frightened, but not for herself alone.

She knew Erik was perfectly capable of protecting her in a normal confrontation, but in this situation he was outnumbered five to one with no weapons.

She grabbed onto his hand and held tightly to it, trying to impart her support to him.

She felt his thumb softly stroking the back of her hand. There was a slight tremor in it, but she felt comforted nonetheless.

Nadir emerged from the tunnel and stared at the four men.

"I have delivered the Phantom to you, Behzadi. Let this woman leave unharmed and keep your word. Return my son to me."

Asad Behzadi stepped forward and gestured toward Erik.

He was a short, husky man in his 30's, well known for his shady business practices and a penchant for women and gambling...

And an old score to settle.

"All in good time, Nadir Khan. I must see the creature for myself. To see personally that he is given no quarter for murdering my family.

"Be aware that I know of your voice tricks. Those games won't work with me." he spat.

Asad looked at Erik for a full minute, then..."Remove it." he said softly.

There was little doubt as to what he meant, but Erik hesitated.

"No."

"Farid, take the woman. Shoot the creature in the knee if he moves one inch."

One of Behzadi's men came toward them.

Christine's hand tightened on Erik's when the man approached them, but immediately he spoke.

"Wait."

He stared unflinchingly at Behzadi and slowly removed his mask, revealing his curse and his shame.

He stood there glaring at Behzadi, his eyes glowing with hatred and the deadly urge to kill.

Behzadi, even knowing he had the upper hand, took an involuntary step backward from the sight that was before him, and the rage he saw in the fiery eyes of his father's killer.

Christine couldn't help but look at Erik's face. After all the suppositions of what the mask was hiding, she could only look on in utter shock.

Because of all of her imaginings, she had never even come close.

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked again.

The full moon shed more than enough light on the face Erik had kept well hidden from her.

It was awful.

Her eyes were drawn helplessly to the middle of it, to the nasal cavities where a nose would normally occupy space.

The utter incongruity of it.

His poor face looked unfinished...the thin, delicate skin stretched drum tight over the underlying bone structure, the cheek bones unnaturally high and too sharply defined.

To Christine, it was as if she was looking upon a human skull suddenly animated and come to ghastly life.

She could almost swear that she saw the blood pulsating through the network of veins under the minuscule covering of gray, discolored flesh.

The sockets of his eyes were deeply set as well, merely adding to the death-like appearance.

It was a face of nightmares.

It was frightening to look upon and she had to turn away from it.

She had without conscious thought, made a noise deep in her throat, and stepped back from him.

It would be all right she reasoned, if she could hear him speak, then maybe it would be her Erik once more and not this dreadful stranger.

He could not help glancing at her briefly in that moment and his heart broke at the utter shock and horror he saw there.

She was terrified of him.

How could she not be?

He choked down his feelings and looked at the Iranian drug lord.

"Let the woman leave here unharmed, Behzadi. She means nothing to you. Let her go."

The Iranian smiled and glanced toward Christine, chuckling at the look of nausea on her face.

"Ah, but she means a great deal to _you_, I think.

"The banu (lady) seems a little...ill at the moment." he added silkily.

Erik tried again. "If she walks away now, you have my word to go with you peacefully. Much easier for you and your men, yes?"

"Your _word?"_ he sneered and shook his head. "No, I think it will be more interesting with her along.

"I have a room prepared for you in my home. There's space for two, no doubt. I will enjoy _your_ suffering watching _her_ suffer. Now you'll be able to understand grief firsthand... eh, Phantom?"

He gestured one of his men forward and said something to him in Farsi. The man looked at Christine and licked his lips, and Erik tugged her behind him and literally growled.

Behzadi laughed and said to Christine, "He has no intention of sharing you, banu. But I hardly think he gets to decide.

"You _are_ a pretty little thing."

His eyes had swept over her body, liking the sweet curves he saw.

Erik tensed for a fight, keeping his eyes on the Iranian moving slowly toward him. The man was clearly afraid of the image the Phantom presented and did not want to get too close.

Christine wondered why they didn't just shoot her and Erik, when it dawned on her, that the fun for these people would end far too soon if that were so.

It was cat and mouse.

A cornered mouse and a hungry cat.

Nadir stood there watching the Iranian thugs move in on his friend and was torn; could he stand and do nothing?

And what about Christine?

She was to be given to Behzadi's men. He was arrogant enough to forget he was on foreign soil.

"Enough of this. I have delivered Reauchard to you. Let Ms. Daae leave unharmed. She is an American citizen and really shouldn't concern you."

Behzadi put his hands out in a supplicating gesture. "I ask you, Nadir Khan...shouldn't _your _concern be directed toward your son?"

The threat was implied and accomplished what Behzadi had meant it to do.

The Persian became quiet.

But help it seemed had arrived.

Before Erik could go for the first man, the Iranian fired his gun and the Phantom staggered as the round hit him.

Hard on the heels of the first shot, there was another.


	19. Chapter 19

Philippe, from his place in the tunnel heard the voices. He motioned for his brother to remain silent and listened closely.

There were three to four men in the clearing and they all seemed to be a threat to Reauchard.

He listened for a few more minutes and made up his mind.

"Christine is in serious trouble." he whispered. "Those men are after Reauchard and _she's_ in the middle."

Raoul swallowed hard and gestured to the grate.

"Th...then we'd better get up there."

Philippe nodded and explained to his brother how they were going to proceed. All the years of soldiering kicked in as his battle hardened instincts took over.

Philippe would go up first and quickly assess the situation, then Raoul was to go straight to Christine if able, and get her back to the tunnel and out of harm's way.

Because of the tall bushes and scrub trees, their exit from the tunnel would be briefly screened from view, giving Philippe the time he needed to see what they were up against.

He pulled himself out through the grate and kept low to the ground, moving over to make room for Raoul.

He looked again through the bushes as his brother joined him, seeing a man with a gun walking toward Christine, and what seemed to be a very pissed off Phantom.

Philippe aimed and squeezed the trigger at nearly the same time as the Iranian thug shot Reauchard.

All hell broke loose.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Erik grunted as the bullet plowed through his thigh, just above his knee.

The blood ran hotly down his leg. The pain was exquisite, but he watched startled as a neat, round hole appeared in the middle of the Iranian shooter's forehead.

Not wasting any time that had been so fortuitously given him, he pivoted swiftly on his sound leg, and swiped the pistol off of an astonished Nadir, giving his former friend a vicious chop to the throat.

The Persian went down, clutching desperately at his neck and wheezing loudly.

Erik spun back around quickly, jerking Christine roughly behind him, nearly forcing her to the ground, and aimed the pistol at the nearest oncoming Iranian, squeezing the trigger.

His bullet caught the man in the chest, and with a cry, the man went to his knees, then slowly crumpled over onto his side.

Philippe and Raoul had come forward, the elder de Chagny ducking behind a spindly tree, when a bullet whined past his head and buried itself in a nearby stump.

Raoul worked his way quickly over to Christine, just as Erik turned and saw him.

His relief at seeing the younger man was great.

He immediately shoved Christine at him. "Get her out of here now! Back to the tunnel. Go!"

Erik's eyes were wild with pain and grief, knowing this was the end for them.

"Adieu, my love." he whispered, as he turned away and faced Behzadi.

He choked back a cry, when his leg gave out on him.

Raoul started to pull Christine away and back to the tunnel and safety, but she was putting up her own fight.

"No... Erik! Let me go, Raoul!"

She screamed Erik's name again, and struggled against her friend's hands, but he only tightened his grip further.

She had seen a lot this night, and would at some point be afraid to close her eyes, fearful of seeing the violent images again and again.

She had been horrified when _he_ staggered as the bullet hit him, the blood quickly soaking his trouser leg.

And now Raoul was trying to take her away from him.

She fought wildly to get out of his grasp, but to no avail...he was far too strong for her and her last sight of _him_, was when he lurched forward and went down on one knee.

She called out to Erik once more, deathly afraid he would not be able to get back up.

"Shut up, Christine! Just shut up!" Raoul said savagely, and continued dragging her away and not being gentle about it, only longing for the relative safety of the tunnel.

"You're just making it harder for him _and_ us... not to mention my brother." he said, disgusted with her.

He would never forget that hellish face, or the madness shining out of Reauchard's eyes.

She realized with dismay, that Raoul was right. By making too much noise, she was jeopardizing all of them, especially Erik and Philippe.

Abruptly the fight left her.

Raoul pulled Christine rapidly away from the mayhem in the clearing. She no longer fought him, but followed quietly, instead fighting a strange lethargy beginning to overtake her.

He reached the grate and not stopping, he helped Christine through and lowered her swiftly to the passage floor.

Glancing back once, he quickly followed and started the trek back to the house, all the while hoping his brother would be all right.

When they finally arrived in the library, Raoul heaved a sigh of relief. He had constantly looked over his shoulder, expecting trouble and was glad when they made it back safely.

He led Christine to a chair and pushed her gently into it, then went to work freeing her hands.

Her once beautiful gown was soiled and torn, the wings left behind in the tunnel, her halo pulled off in the clearing.

He rubbed her sore wrists and looked worriedly into her eyes, seeing no reaction.

Raoul got up and went to a carafe on the table and poured her a glass of water, holding it to her mouth, and watching as she took a few sips.

He pushed the hair back from her face gently and sighed.

He took out his phone and at long last called the police, then Mama Valerius.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Philippe watched as his brother disappeared from sight, and turned in time to see Reauchard going to one knee, his face grimacing in pain and Behzadi motioning his man forward.

They want Reauchard alive, Philippe thought.

He had seen men who enjoyed the suffering of their enemies. He figured these men had something special planned for the Phantom, involving a lot of agony, followed by a very messy death.

He took a bead on one of the Iranian killers and shot him, hitting the man in the neck.

The Iranian yelled, and bleeding profusely, he turned toward Philippe and raised his pistol.

Erik, who had climbed unsteadily to his feet, shot the man again, killing him before turning to Behzadi.

The crime lord wasted no time firing his weapon at the Phantom, but a combination of nerves and bad luck had his first shot narrowly missing its mark, instead passing harmlessly through the sleeve of Erik's jacket.

Before he could fire again, Erik had thrown the gun aside and wrapped his bloody fingers around Behzadi's neck.

He was horrified at the way the tables had turned, as his life was snuffed out by a killer with the face of a demon.

The death's head leered at him, those burning eyes boring into his own.

"May you have a speedy journey to hell." it said.

Philippe heard the snap of bone from across the clearing.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

They stood together uneasily in the moonlight, surveying the carnage they had wrought.

Behzadi lay on the ground, eyes wide and staring at nothing, his head bent at an unnatural angle.

Erik recovered his mask and once again hid his face from the world.

Philippe breathed easier. He had never seen anything like the Phantom's face and hoped to never again.

Erik limped over to where the Persian lay propped against a tree, barely conscious.

"He will live, I think." Erik muttered, half to himself.

Philippe heard him and came closer.

"Someday when you have more time, perhaps you'll tell me how often you've been in my home uninvited." he said dryly.

Erik was about to say something, when Philippe's phone beeped.

A moment later he smiled faintly and turned to Reauchard.

"Christine is safe and the police are on their way. Might be a good idea for you to take off."

Then he crouched down and looked closer at Nadir.

"Hope there's an ambulance coming with them."

Erik sighed raggedly in relief at the news that _she_ was safe, then paused for a moment.

"Why?" he asked finally.

Philippe shrugged. "Because you weren't the enemy here."

He gestured to the bodies in the clearing.

"They would have taken Christine and that's not something I would consent to."

"Nor would I. You know Farsi, yes?" Erik said accusingly.

Philippe chuckled richly. "I get around. Besides, we fought side by side...you're practically my brother now."

Erik sneered and gestured to the Persian. "Mais oui. Observe my brother-in-arms. He would have handed me over to ce morceau de merde," (that piece of shit), and nodded his head at Behzadi's corpse.

"I don't think your friend did so willingly, Reauchard."

Erik snorted. "I was led to believe by the good daroga, that you would have done anything to be a count."

"Your friend lied." Philippe said easily.

"Who are you, Reauchard? No longer a paid assassin are you?"

Erik shook his head and turned to leave.

"No more than you are a paid mercenary."

They could hear sirens approaching from the Fairfield Rd.

Philippe grinned then. "Touche."

Erik looked one last time at Philippe.

"Take good care of her."

His voice broke as he turned, then he was gone.

Philippe stood in the clearing, hands on hips and looked around.

"How the hell am I going to explain this mess?" he muttered.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Mama and Meg hurried to Chagny where Raoul met them at the door, and led them to one of the bedrooms, where Christine was ensconced.

They arrived at the same time as Philippe, who walked out of the library as they came down the hall.

Raoul went to his brother and grasped his arm. He looked steadily at him. "All right, Phil?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He slung his arm around his brother in a brief, hard hug.

They watched as Moncharmin's body was removed from the library, and a man wearing a business suit walked up to Philippe and conferred with him in low tones.

Then the man turned and walked back into the library, while Philippe headed to the bedroom where Christine was waiting.

As he came through the door, he saw her sitting numbly in a chair.

Everyone converged on her at once, but when she finally lifted her head, she had eyes only for Philippe.

She stood up shakily and grasped his forearms tightly.

"Erik?"

He cupped one of her cheeks and sighed.

"He's gone, Christine."

She stumbled backward and felt her legs giving way.

She covered her face with her hands and let out a harsh sob, before Raoul grabbed her and held her close.

Christine pushed him away and went to the door, intent on going back to the clearing, when Philippe realized his mistake and went to her.

Grasping her arm, he forced her around to face him.

"No honey, he's not dead! He left the area before the cops arrived...that's all"

She pushed at him again, but eventually stilled and Mama Valerius came forward and took her in her arms.

Christine, her face wet with tears, cried as if she would never stop.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Erik nosed the car off the road as near to the house as he could manage, then shutting off the engine, he made his halting way to his apartment stopping every so often to briefly rest his leg.

He cut diagonally across the field in back of the house, keeping to the shadows as much as he was able.

He'd encountered no one as he made his way to his room, and set to work gathering materials to treat his bullet wound.

He was no stranger to pain.

Their acquaintance went way back. It had been the one constant in his life, whether physical or mental, it had always opened its arms to him...the one thing willing to hold him close.

He quickly extracted the bullet, thankful at least that it hadn't lodged in the bone. Bracing once more for the pain, he poured antiseptic over the wound and bound it up.

He gathered his things together and threw them haphazardly into the suitcase, then taking pen and paper, he proceeded to write a note to Christine.

Ten miles outside of Gettysburg, his hands started to tremble on the steering wheel. He grasped it tighter until his fingers ached.

He clenched his teeth, the state of numbed emotions rapidly wearing off, being replaced with an agony so profound, that before he could stop himself, a sob tore out of his throat.

His eyes blinded by tears and barely able to see, he pulled off to the side of the road and gave in to his grief.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Christine couldn't get home fast enough.

When Philippe gave her the news that Erik had left, she wanted only to go home as quickly as possible.

With the tears still drying on her face, she herded Mama Valerius and Meg out the door and into Meg's car.

Upon arriving home, she left the two women in the foyer staring after her in bewilderment, while she climbed the steps to the Reynold's apartment as fast as her tired legs would take her.

She'd felt a bubble of fear when she noted the absence of his car, but refused to give in to it.

Her steps slowed as she approached his door, all of a sudden frightened as to what she would find.

There was a smear of blood on the door frame.

Hesitantly, she tapped on the door and called his name.

When he didn't answer, she took a deep breath and turned the knob.

It was unlocked and she entered the room knowing for certain finally, that he wasn't there.

For Christine immediately saw the scuffed violin case and propped against it, a sheet of notepaper bearing her name in a flowing script.

She was trembling and didn't realize it.

Her sole focus was on the note.

She reached for it, knowing in her heart that Erik had already departed Gettysburg and with him all of her happiness.

With shaking hands, she unfolded the note.

_I know you can never forgive me for the danger I put you_

_ in, my Christine. I can never forgive myself. You deserve a man_

_ with a normal past and a bright future. I can give you neither._

_ Forget me and be happy, mon amour. I will always love you._

_ You were my dream. Erik_

Christine held the piece of paper tightly and searched the room as if Erik was simply in hiding, and would eventually reveal himself to her. But aside from the violin, all of his things were gone.

The small apartment was neat, as if it had never been lived in at all.

She walked to the bathroom door and looked in. The bloody towels caught her eye immediately; going inside, she saw the drops of blood around the waste can and the small lump of metal glinting dully on the bottom of it.

She covered her mouth with one hand as her eyes filled with tears, imagining him alone and in pain, doctoring himself as best as he could.

She turned and went back to the main room slowly, a numbness creeping into her soul, which would all too soon become agonizing.

Meg found her lying on the bed, dry eyed and still clutching his note.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Philippe listened to the French president in the cyclorama center. The president was standing in front of the 27 ft. high, 359 ft. circular painting, speaking of his ancestor, Paul Philippoteax and his magnificent work, Pickett's Charge.

Because of what had occurred just the night before, it had been decided by the planning committee and the French themselves, to move the speech to a safer location.

Philippe had been surprised when a friend of his from the State Department approached him just before the ceremony had begun.

Jason McNeal had been a friend since college and a sometime golfing buddy, who at the moment had a very interesting story to tell him.

Jason stood next to Philippe outside the visitor's center awaiting the arrival of France's president. July 3rd that morning promised to be muggy and overcast, much like it was on that other July 3rd in 1863.

"Heard you had some trouble last night. Trouble involving someone from French Intelligence."

Jason then had his undivided attention.

Philippe studied Jason's face a moment, then said warily, "Who's your source of info, Jace?"

The red-haired Jason put his hands in his pockets and smiled deprecatingly at his friend.

"You cut right to the chase don't you, Phil? All right. Would you believe a member of the DGSE?"

Philippe was startled. "That's external security for France. Are you saying that Erik Reauchard _works_ for them_?_ He's an _agent?"_

"Yup, that's exactly what I'm saying. He was here because of the danger to France's president."

Philippe let out a soft whistle and shook his head. "He's one of the good guys now. I was half right about him."

He chuckled and looked at Jason. "He still kills for a living, but on the right side of the law now, eh?"

Jason nodded his head. "The French agent I spoke to, cited the murders of two members of parliament...that's what led to Reauchard's involvement. Signs caused them to believe the president was next and that led him here.

_"And _it was Reauchard who notified them of the trouble last night...the DGSE in turn, talked with the Gettysburg police...that's why you weren't interrogated, _and_ why they moved the speech inside. Also Reauchard's doing."

Philippe scratched his head. "I'll be damned. Where's Reauchard now?"

Jason shrugged. "Gone. The other man that was with him is in custody waiting for extradition to France as soon as he's well enough.

"This Behzadi used the president as a ruse to get to Reauchard." He shook his head and gave a lopsided grin. "I think the poor bastard bit off more than he could chew though with Reauchard. Wonder if he'd want to work for us? I was told he could get past any locked door or security system out there."

"Do tell," Philippe said wryly, wondering how many trips Reauchard made to _his_ home.

"I don't think we'll be seeing _him_ back this way anytime soon, Jace."

He looked up as he heard a number of vehicles turning into the driveway of the visitor's center.

France's president had arrived.

Philippe was brought back to the present, when the crowd in the building broke into applause at the end of the speech.

He wasn't quite sure what Andre Moncharmin's part in all of this had been, but he _had_ been involved.

Enough to be left dead on the floor of the library.

So, the president hadn't been the target after all. It had been Reauchard all along.

Some Iranian crime lord had wanted revenge for an old murder.

Asad Behzadi hadn't succeeded, but the Phantom had been brought down after all...by Christine Daae.


	20. Chapter 20

She thought of little else but him.

Even after knowing he had lied to her about nearly everything.

Even after becoming aware of what the mask had hidden.

She tried to tell herself that she should be _glad_ he was gone.

His horrific face was no longer _her_ problem...she would never have to see it again.

Better to be with someone safe _and_ normal.

His criminal behavior wasn't an issue for her anymore...she wouldn't have to feel guilty loving a man who killed for a living.

But Christine realized that she was helpless to change how she felt.

She loved him still and would continue to yearn for what she'd lost.

It made _no_ sense whatsoever to her. Why _choose_ a mask and a mystery?

A killer?

But she _had_ chosen him and she wanted him back with all of her heart.

Each day drearily merged into the next, moving with a slowness and a sense of unreality for her.

His violin was tucked up close to her bed, where her gaze fell on it often during the endless nights.

She dreamt of him over and over again.

The dreams were vivid and terrifying.

The blood and death starting their mind games almost as soon as she closed her eyes.

But always, the terror led her to a better place...in his arms, the two of them holding tightly to each other, raising her face to his for a kiss...

And then...she would wake up.

Alone.

Finally, October had arrived and with it cooler weather.

The fall days were idyllic. Deep blue skies, the air clear and crisp, the trees wearing their bright mantle of autumnal colors.

None of which she noticed.

Long ago, she had lost the numbness that had wrapped itself around her, and before one night had passed without him, the pain of loss had hit with a vengeance.

Everyone tried to help her through it, never coming right out and saying she was much better off without him, but certainly implying it.

Mama at times felt helpless, knowing how Christine struggled with her feelings of grief and abandonment.

She felt anger and resentment toward Erik Reauchard for causing Christine's pain, but eventually acknowledged to herself, that he had done it with the best intentions.

Shamefully, she had initially felt relief at his departure, even though she had also felt gratitude for his protection of Christine.

Elizabeth Valerius, like any parent, wanted the best for her child. Erik Reauchard had never seemed the right choice...too different and alien, not to mention the difference in their ages.

There was also his questionable past to consider.

But she didn't doubt Christine's love for him anymore. She had suffered too much these past months to think that way any longer.

Meg had been supportive, always available if she wanted someone to talk with, but she never did, preferring to keep her heartache to herself.

Meg felt bad for her friend, knowing Christine's feelings for Erik. And his for Christine. It had seemed an unlikely love from the very beginning, but over time she had come to believe that what they'd had was very real.

So she visited often, trying her best to lend support to her friend and extending an invitation to talk anytime she needed to.

Christine _did_ want someone to talk with, but _he_ was thousands of miles away and for all intents and purposes, out of her life for good.

Raoul, at first had been a frequent visitor.

He had tried to interest her in a trip to Lancaster, or a picnic at the state park, but she had said no, refusing to go anywhere with him.

He had been patient with her, but mourning a killer who had simply disappeared from her life made him lash out finally.

"Why can't you see what he really is, Christine? He _murders _people for a _living_, for God's sake!"

He dropped his voice, as if Reauchard was somewhere in the room listening in. "His face. How can you _want_ to look at _that_ again?"

The anger that was never far from the surface rose up at his contempt for Erik.

"You weren't exactly friends with him, Raoul...I think you're a little prejudiced." she snapped.

She immediately felt ashamed. He didn't deserve her anger, only her gratitude.

"I'm s-sorry...that's not fair. You and Philippe have been great.

"I _know_ what he is and it does bother me, but I c-can't stop thinking about him."

It wasn't that she didn't acknowledge the facts of which he spoke. And of course he was right...Erik's face _had_ been in the forefront of her mind, endlessly it seemed.

Seeing it for the first time that night had shocked her, but his absence since then had robbed that moment of its power.

What she had come to realize over time, was how isolated he must have been over the years because of it, and she could only feel sympathy for him now.

His deformity and the reactions of people had shaped him into the man he'd become.

It amazed her that he could feel any tender emotions at all... but he had. His care and gentleness with her proved it.

She realized that in today's atmosphere of suspicion and acts of terrorism, it was no small thing to find a man wearing a mask walking among the populace.

It was normal for the average person to be fearful, but it hurt her all the same for him to be seen as less than human, fit only for a Halloween scare.

He was so much more than that.

But she had been given a small taste of what being different felt like.

The times they'd been together in public had incurred staring and whispers, making _her_ uncomfortable and angry at the lack of feeling people had for others different from themselves.

How much worse had it been for Erik, the object of the unwanted attention.

And the courage it took to walk among them.

Besides, she had come to know the man _behind_ the face.

There was something that had been buried deep within him, only just beginning to make its appearance.

A gentleness and sweetness of character that she knew if encouraged, would reveal a whole new side to him.

A side that he'd more than willingly shown to her.

Christine didn't claim to understand him completely...she knew there was darkness in him. She'd been a witness to it.

But she loved him in _spite_ of it.

Sometimes...it terrified her to think of the complications of loving someone so very different from other men.

It was like jumping off the end of a pier blindfolded and not knowing what the landing would be.

But she knew she would give anything just to have the chance again.

He watched her, searching for any sign that she was over Reauchard and not seeing any.

He walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"He's gone, Christine." he said quietly.

"I know." she whispered.

She would not get emotional again, but she needed Raoul to understand.

"Thanks for caring about me, Raoul. It means a lot...we've been friends practically forever, but I don't want to go anywhere right now. Okay?"

He sighed then and kissed her cheek, watching her closely.

"You really do love him, don't you? In spite of everything." he said in disbelief.

"Yeah...I do."

Raoul left after that and she'd seen less of him over the following weeks.

There was work in town to go to, and the apartments to look after with Mama, but there was no joy in anything anymore.

Life had become empty without him.

She was miserable.

She lay in bed at night remembering their last moments together.

She cringed when she thought of her reaction to his mask-less face.

He had deserved much better from her and what he'd received was far from it.

If only she could have that moment back.

One thing was very clear to Christine.

Regardless of his face and sordid past...she loved him.

She wondered so often about his whereabouts...if he was all right...that it was depressing.

He'd left her with so little explanation.

Erik thought he wasn't good enough for her. Ha. Well...so did everyone else.

Shouldn't _she_ be the judge of whom she wanted to love?

These thoughts continually chased each other over and over in her mind, until she felt exhausted and wrung out.

Then one day, Philippe showed up at the house.

She hadn't seen him since that night, nearly three months ago and she was faintly curious as to why he was here now.

Christine led him into the parlor, studiously ignoring the piano sitting forlornly in the corner of the room.

Philippe had always been kind to her in a polite, distant way.

He was older than her and Raoul...had been absent a good deal of the time as they grew up.

She gestured to a chair and offered some refreshment, which he declined.

She sat across from him and waited patiently for him to state his business.

Philippe noted how pale she was, the dark smudges under her eyes and a listlessness unlike her.

"How have you been, kid?" he asked quietly.

Christine heard the sympathy in his voice and nearly came undone, but she was through with crying.

She had cried rivers and it had accomplished nothing.

But she looked into his eyes and surprisingly, saw an understanding that no one else had offered.

She sighed. "I miss him so much. Sometimes I wonder if I'll go crazy from it.

"Phil...how badly was he hurt?"

Philippe shrugged. "Bullet wounds are always serious, Christine."

When she flinched, he hastened to add, "But he's a big boy-he can take care of himself.

"It wasn't by any means his first rodeo...he knew his way around a gun...

"Not to mention what he could do with his bare hands." he muttered.

He looked up quickly when Christine gasped, surprised she'd heard him.

"Sorry...I shouldn't have said that."

He cleared his throat, then leaned forward.

"Raoul told me you were a little depressed. I tried to see you after...well, after that night, but Elizabeth didn't think that was a good idea."

Christine nodded and her fingers went to the necklace at her throat, and lightly touched the old coin hanging there.

"Everyone wants me to forget him...but I can't."

She got suddenly to her feet and walked over to the grand. She lifted the fallboard and plinked out a C major scale, then turned and faced him.

"I don't want to forget him, Phil." she whispered, looking at the keys and seeing _his_ hands there.

"Then don't." he said simply.

She looked at him in surprise and sat down on the piano bench.

Philippe smiled at her and shook his head.

"When I found out what he did to my brother, I wanted to kick his ass..." He sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck.

"That day...what set him off? Raoul told me he just went nuts on him. Did he, Christine?"

She shook her head. "Uh...Erik _was _upset, but when Raoul called him a coward for hiding behind a mask...well, that's when he lost it."

Philippe nodded. "Well, that explains quite a bit. My brother conveniently forgot that part. No wonder he was so angry. It doesn't excuse his behavior, but it's more understandable.

"I think Reauchard is miserable wherever he is, Christine. He sure as hell didn't want to leave _you_ behind. I'm not going to say he has a heart of gold, but you might have brought out something decent in him. We might be the only two in the state of Pennsylvania who can look past the outer layers and see a good man underneath."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded.

"I've known all along that he _can_ be, if only given the chance. But he left me and I want to know why."

Philippe shook his head. "I don't know for sure, but I would lay money on his wanting to protect you from his past."

Her voice shook with emotion. "I don't want to be _protected_ from him."

She dropped her head into her hands and rubbed at her temples, saying in a muffled voice. "I _want_ him back."

"His former friend is in Gettysburg Prison being held for extradition to France."

He paused and looked at her thoughtfully.

"He might know how to go about finding Reauchard. I suggest that as a good place to start."

"I'm grateful to you, Philippe. In more ways than one, but... why do you care?"

He smiled wryly and shrugged. "Not really sure, but with that face, he hasn't had a lot of happiness I'm bettin'. I think you could change that for him...if you wanted to. And from what you've been telling me...you do."

"Besides that...well... I learned to trust my instincts about the man next to me in a bad situation."

He got to his feet. "I trusted him, Christine...and I would again."

Christine smiled faintly for the first time since Philippe had arrived.

"Thank you, Phil...for everything. And...I'm sorry if Raoul is upset with me. I...love him dearly, but not the way he wants me to."

"He's okay, kid. He's been seeing someone from New Oxford. You two were always together...I think he just took it for granted.

"Go see Reauchard's friend, Christine."

And she decided... it was time for a visit.


	21. Chapter 21

Nadir Khan was informed Wednesday morning that he had a visitor.

Curious as to who it was, he followed the guard to the visitor's area and sat down at the counter which ran the width of the small room, separated by a bullet proof window.

On the other side of the window, sitting in a gray plastic chair that matched the washed out gray walls was Christine Daae.

The Persian was shocked at her appearance.

The young woman was much thinner and looked tired and wan, as if the very thought of getting up in the morning nearly exhausted her abilities to do so.

Nadir picked up the phone in front of him and spoke into it.

"Christine. I'm surprised to see you."

"Hello Nadir." she said quietly. "How are you?"

The Persian grimaced. "Better than I was the last time you saw me."

"How bad was it?"

"Trauma to my windpipe and a broken collarbone...it was difficult speaking and eating for quite some time," he paused, reliving the agony of the first few days, the pain of his injuries, coupled with the knowledge of his failure to get his son back, "but I am much better now, as you can see.

"Actually, thinking back on it, I was very surprised he let me live. It must have been _your_ influence that stayed his hand.

"I don't blame him, Christine. He was only trying to protect what he loved. I understand that completely...as I would understand if you won't accept my apology for making _you_ suffer. I am very sorry for hurting you."

"You've already been forgiven by me, Nadir.

"I had a harder time forgiving you for what you did to _him_, but I was no better was I?" She looked at the Persian with hollow eyes.

"What happens to you now?"

He shrugged. "I won't be here much longer, not more than a month I've been told. I'll be extradited to France and possibly released by the first of the year. Because of my son being taken, they're considering extenuating circumstances. We shall see, Allah willing."

"Your son...is he all right?"

Nadir smiled, touched by her concern, especially after what had occurred.

"Yes, yes...he is fine now."

He looked out the barred window, watching a swirl of leaves blowing across the compound. The sky was a deep azure...the fall day, achingly beautiful.

He looked forward to a time when he could enjoy an afternoon in the sun again.

With a pensive look, he turned back to her.

"Thanks to Erik, Reza is with my sister and hopefully I will see him soon."

Christine digested this information and the glimmer of Erik she'd been given after all these months.

"Have you spoken with him?" she asked eagerly.

"No." he said finally. "I was interviewed by an agent of the DGSE, and without naming any names, I realized who was behind Reza being found and returned to my sister."

"Will you...will you tell me about it, Nadir?"

The Persian sat back in his chair and sighed.

"Erik has people everywhere. He pays them well to be his eyes... and ears. His contacts near Tehran found a servant of Behzadi's who was keeping a young boy in his home. A young boy who just happened to resemble my son."

Nadir paused, then continued. "Erik notified the DGSE and they were able to send some agents in there to get him out."

Christine was confused. "I'm glad for you and your son, but Nadir, why didn't you trust Erik in the first place?"

The Persian had the grace to look ashamed.

"I should have- I realize that now, but you must remember...Erik has never loved anyone until he met you. How could I trust him with my son's life? Besides, Behzadi was already dead when the agents raided the servant's house. He had very little justification anymore to hold my son and every reason to relinquish him.

"Why have you come, Christine?"

She tensed up, wanting to tell him that she was going mad not knowing where Erik was, or how he was faring.

That she didn't want to waste another moment apart from him.

Instead, quietly. "Where is he, Nadir? How do I find him? You _must_ know.

"He...he left without saying goodbye. Just a note."

She looked down and was still for a moment, feeling the threat of tears once more.

"I...I never got the chance to speak with him after...after that night."

He looked at her with pity, then shook his head.

"For what it's worth, I gave him my word that I would _never_ give away his location. To _anyone_."

He was surprised that Erik had left his little pigeon.

Nadir had watched the masked man's metamorphoses from a hitman with no feelings, into one of a man deep in the throes of love.

It was very curious that he had left her behind.

The Persian knew without a doubt, it was a move Erik had not made lightly.

Christine had very quickly become his world.

What to tell her now?

She sighed, wondering if this was a goose chase.

"Philippe told me about Erik working for the French. Did you?"

Nadir smiled slightly. "No, they didn't want me. Only the Phantom. I still worked with him on occasion, but only when he had need of my services. Old habits do indeed die hard.

"They approached him eight years ago with amnesty if he would help them in their fight against terrorism. It pertained mostly to the French populace living and working in foreign countries."

Nadir chuckled as he remembered Erik's answer to them.

"He told them that he didn't want to be an international gendarme. That it wasn't lucrative enough for him, not to mention he didn't relish taking orders from anyone."

"What changed his mind?"

The Persian sat up and looked at her closely.

"The very same reason Behzadi wanted him. Erik is a killer, make no mistake about that, but he never harmed a woman or child until that moment.

"Behzadi Sr. was supposed to be alone. His wife decided to attend at the last minute. After that event, Erik went to the DGSE and offered his services to them. This was five years ago."

At her puzzled look, Nadir explained. "The DGSE is short for the General Directorate for External Security. It performs paramilitary and counter-intelligence abroad. They have prevented quite a few terrorist attacks since the one on your country in 2001.

"Not just terrorism either, but missions bent on rescuing French citizens taken hostage by insurgents in foreign lands."

He explained. "One of his first operations was a raid on a compound in Tobruk, Libya. It was to liberate a trio of journalists who had been held in captivity for six months."

Nadir studied her a moment. "One of them was a woman."

He shook his head and sighed. "I have often wondered if he wanted to be a part of that raid because of her."

"For what reason?"

"Why...for atonement. To pay back in some way, what he had taken. The botched assassination deeply disturbed him."

"Was it successful...the raid I mean?"

"Yes, very. All three were rescued alive. In a deplorable state, but alive."

"The agents. What about them?" she asked him.

"One killed and three wounded. Erik...not a scratch, if that's what you wanted to know."

"He always seems to put himself in danger, doesn't he?" she said softly.

The Persian only nodded, then sighed. "Erik has always been complex. And I might add, highly dangerous himself and that will probably never change, but as I said...he was haunted after the killings in Tehran, and in his own way working for the French helped him cope with his guilt."

She closed her eyes briefly and spoke into the mouthpiece of the phone. "Please. How do I find him, Nadir?"

He said nothing, then curtly, "Did his face bother you at all? Can you... live with it everyday?

He paused and searched her face, looking for her resolve.

"More importantly, can you live with what he's been? Or possibly what he might still be?"

She hesitated long enough to plant a seed of doubt in his mind.

"Of course, you still have your questions, do you not? Then why find him if you're not absolutely sure of your feelings?"

"I've seen his face many times awake and sleeping since then. And believe me, I haven't forgotten one single detail of it...but the power to shock and horrify...no." she said quietly.

"He became important to me before I ever saw his face. Maybe if the reverse was true I...I would feel differently, but that's not the way it happened...is it?

"As for his past...haven't you just told me he's changed? A man who wants to atone for his crimes is not unworthy of love...is he?"

He shook his head."Forgive me for saying this, but it happened very quickly, and with a man at first glance few would even like, let alone love."

He cleared his throat and looked a little shamefaced at her.

"How can you know for certain it _is_ love? Erik...yes. But for yourself, dear lady?"

Christine looked steadily at him, and it was then that he saw what he was looking for.

"I've had three very long, very depressing months to know the answer to _that_ question.

"_Where_ is he, Nadir?"

He studied her a few moments longer, mulling over his answer.

"Do you like opera?" he asked her finally.

She had not been expecting that particular question.

"Yes, but..."

Nadir over-rode her and said, "The Palais Garnier in Paris is premier among opera houses. I would seriously urge you to go there and experience it for yourself."

He paused and held her gaze, then added in a low voice.

"I've even been told that it's haunted. Long after the show is over and all is quiet. Do you believe in ghosts, Christine?"

He smiled slightly at that and watched her closely.

"Erik greatly admires your voice. Perhaps you might sing for him again, yes? The acoustics in the old theatre are quite good...wouldn't it be a wonderful experience for you on that stage...singing?

"Perhaps... if you sing loud enough, _someone_ will indeed hear.

"Do you understand me?" He kept his gaze steady on her a moment longer.

She stared back at him and lowered her voice.

"Nadir...are you saying there's a _phantom_ of the opera?" she whispered.

He shrugged, amused in spite of himself.

"Go and find out for yourself, Christine. And let me know what you discover."

He debated with himself and at last said softly.

"If you find what you're looking for, tell him...tell him an old friend says...thank you."

With that, he said farewell and abruptly stood up. The guard escorted him from the room and she was alone with her somber thoughts.

She missed Erik more each day and was miserable for it.

She could continue on as she had been, with her life stuck in neutral and going nowhere.

She would never get what she wanted by expecting _him_ to return to her.

He loved her. She was sure of it. He'd left her with one of his most beloved possessions...his violin.

His reasoning for leaving her behind was questionable, however.

She had to know for certain _why_ he gave up on them.

She was going to Paris.


	22. Chapter 22

Erik's strength failed a little more each day since returning to the opera house and his home five cellars down.

The bullet wound in his thigh hadn't healed right, even after the three months since his return, but his physical condition was much better than his mental state.

He was able to stop thinking of Christine for minutes at a time.

Those few moments kept him relatively sane, but his thinking process was still precarious at best.

Black depression incapacitated him to an alarming degree.

Eating, sleeping...even his music had ceased to matter.

What music he was able to create had very little melody. It was composed of crashing and dissonant chords, and reflected very well the blackness and despair he carried in his heart.

Most nights he couldn't be bothered to explore the opera house.

The ballets and operas were performed on schedule, but without Erik's critical ear listening in. He would effectively tune the music out, something that would have been impossible in the past.

Twice he climbed to the roof-what had once been done with grace and expediency, now wore him out.

The view did nothing for him anymore, but he liked to imagine what Christine would have thought, looking out at the myriad and glittering lights of Paris spread out like jewels on black satin.

His very next thought was how high it was from the ground. It would no doubt kill a man if he were to jump.

He filed _that_ particular thought away for future reference.

He spent hours at a time putting _her_ likeness on paper. Drawing her from memory was so very easy, but it was the finished product he viewed that was the hardest for him.

Her sweet face and graceful limbs on paper could only wound him, for a one dimensional image was all he would ever have.

He would swear to himself...no more sketches and before the morning sun had risen fully over the Garnier, he was once more putting _her_ lovingly on paper.

The care of his leg was perfunctory at best.

Why he bothered at all was only mildly interesting to him, but every time he began to seriously consider a permanent way out, he would see her beloved face in his mind's eye, and pause long enough to get through another hellish day without her.

For after all, she existed in the world and so would he.

He was living more like a rat in a hole and it suited him well enough. He had ventured out once in a while, prowling the dark streets and alleys, needing to expend some of the energy he'd had shortly after his return.

He needed to exhaust himself, just to force the torturous thoughts of what could have been, out of his mind.

One evening he found that he had walked far from the Garnier and was headed toward the Seine.

He walked through a dingy alley, littered with garbage and pungent with the odor of decay.

He had paused to rest his aching leg, when a man appeared in front of him, a half empty wine bottle clutched in one dirty hand.

Erik could smell the stench of unwashed body and the sourness of the cheap wine from a dozen paces away.

The vagrant approached him, staggering from side to side until he stood closer than Erik felt was comfortable.

The man was upon closer inspection, in late middle age, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

"You look lonely, mon ami. Perhaps you would like a leetle company tonight, eh? I can give you pleasure if you like in exchange for some francs."

The derelict leered at him and sidled closer, Erik's silence giving the impression of consent.

"It won't take long, my friend and then you'll be on your way. Old Jacque knows how to please." he crooned, licking chapped lips.

Jacque finally raised his eyes to the man he'd propositioned, and was pulled from his alcoholic haze abruptly.

He saw twin beams of fire glaring down at him from the shadows and little else.

The thing tilted its head at him, and put a long pale finger to its lips tapping them gently as if pondering his answer.

Then it spoke in a wondrous voice, soft and gentle.

"Let me understand this, _my friend_." it said slowly. "You will give me a sexual favor, n'est-ce pas? And I will give you money in return, yes?"

Something insidious in that voice, a threat wrapped in velvet words, made the short hairs on his neck rise.

The man nodded, starting to feel uneasy, the pleasant alcohol buzz quickly dissipating, but before he could step back, there was a blur of movement too quick to catch and something settled around his neck and proceeded to tighten, causing excruciating pain.

There was a laugh edged in frost from above him and before he could blink, his neck had been broken and he slumped to the littered ground dead.

"I think not." the Phantom said gently.

He buried the man under a pile of refuse and returned quickly to his home, disgusted by the encounter.

He remembered very well, another time years before, when he had hidden himself in an abandoned storefront, cold and hungry.

New to the Paris slums, he hadn't been fully aware of the evils present in the dirty alleys and rundown deserted buildings, or what could happen to a skinny, twelve year old boy all alone.

The glittering and gay nightlife of Paris could have been on the dark side of the moon for all it meant to Erik, crouching on a cold, bare floor wondering what he could find to ease the gnawing hunger in his belly.

Shivering from the cold weather of late February and the dampness of an icy rain, he pulled the tattered blanket closer around his thin shoulders, never realizing the man was there until it was too late.

The derelict had left him badly bruised and bleeding, but alive.

He'd made a vow to himself, that he would kill the next vagrant who approached him with _that _in mind.

And he had.

He felt no remorse, just a growing need for a hot bath that evening.

He hadn't ventured out after that, instead having his solicitor, Bernard Prideux take care of any business matters and anything else he required, which wasn't all that much.

Bernard had been his lawyer and man of business for thirteen years, nearly from the moment he graduated from law school.

Erik had wanted someone intelligent and ambitious... who didn't ask questions.

Someone whom he could buy loyalty from.

Prideux had a large and hopeful family. Money was always in short supply, so being on retainer for a generous client such as Erik, became very satisfactory for them both.

When Bernard's third child had required surgery, Erik had taken care of all of the costs, insuring his loyalty even more.

Bernard would have never considered Erik a friend. How can one like a man when he fears him?

But he did respect Reauchard even if his wife, Celine did not.

She could not abide her husband's ghoulish client anywhere near her five children or her home, even though it was Erik's money that kept her brood of children safe and warm.

And so Erik went to ground and in effect, gave up on the one event that had given him light in all of his darkness.

He left his violin with _her_, wanting her to have something to remember him by...something beautiful.

Something of his to hold close.

He had told her to forget him.

But he wished for her to think of his music...and smile.

Christine was far away, but never far from his thoughts.

He took every memory of their days together and replayed them constantly in his grieving mind, getting scant comfort, but helpless to stop.

He would remember the way her arms clasped him around the neck, their bodies pressed tightly together, his mouth seeking the warmth that only hers could give.

And _she_ had loved him. She had told him so.

He would shiver from the memory and cry out, helpless from the raw emotion and nearly hating her for it.

A month after his arrival back in Paris, he snapped and started throwing clothes in a suitcase, his one intent to go back to Gettysburg and his Christine.

He had called Bernard and required his presence below the opera.

Prideux had shown up and Erik met him at the door, giving him instructions to carry out in his absence, while he moved from room to room in a disjointed manner gathering what he needed for his trip, muttering unintelligibly.

Bernard watched Erik uneasily, seeing a man nearly out of control-a state he'd never observed with Reauchard.

Finally Erik had simply run out of steam and had walked slowly back into the living room, dropping into a chair and staring at his hands.

"I am merely fooling myself, Bernard. _She _will have no wish to see me again." he whispered brokenly.

Bernard didn't know what to say. He started to speak, but halted when Erik looked at him, those yellow eyes of his flat and mean.

"Get out."

The words had been spoken softly, but the threat was there.

Prideux did not have to be told twice.

Reauchard had gone from the room. Bernard heard a door closing quietly in another part of the house and shaking his head he left, wondering who_ she_ was and if the lady felt anything near what Erik felt for her.

He doubted it very much.

After all, how can one love a shade?

Three months after he left Gettysburg, Erik knew he was sick.

He was finally becoming the very thing he'd been labeled all those years ago.

Day by day he was less substantial.

Sickness from a broken heart and mind were just as lethal as any disease.

He was living proof of that.

He was turning into a ghost.

At the moment, his stomach clenched painfully; limping into the kitchen he opened a can of soup, dumping it into a pan.

At times he'd been so hungry that he hadn't bothered to heat it, but had eaten it straight from the can. After a few mouthfuls, he had lost all interest in nourishment and abandoned any pretense of having a meal.

He _did_ eat, but not nearly the amount of food he should have been consuming. What he managed to get down, was more from force of habit than any real appetite.

He stood there now, waiting for it to get hot, struggling mightily to keep her out of his mind and failing miserably. He realized his tenuous hold on sanity had finally snapped, for he kept hearing _her_ angel's voice singing in his head.

A sob forced its way out of his mouth, and he shoved the back of his hand hard against his lips.

He finally let out a shaky sigh and turned the burner off.

Grabbing a spoon, he dipped it in the soup and took a bite.

"There's no hope for you now, is there old man?" he muttered.

He kept hearing her voice all around him, distant and faint, but there nonetheless.

He let out a bark of laughter and doubled over laughing harder, until the mirth became harsh weeping.

It always surprised him that he had more tears.

He stumbled to a chair and sat heavily down, wrapping his fingers around his head and squeezing as if to squash the sounds into nothingness.

He moaned and rocked back and forth as the singing continued on.

"Christine." he whispered raggedly.

He stood up abruptly and moving over to the hall table, picked up his mask.

Securing it over his face with shaking hands, he left his home to seek the angelic voice, convinced he had finally lost his mind completely, but needing to find the source of that exquisite torture.


	23. Chapter 23

Two days earlier.

Christine had landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport after a long and uneventful flight.

Her excitement at finally arriving in France was growing with every step that brought her closer to Erik.

She knew it was pure fantasy, but she already felt closer to him, and was becoming impatient for the day to be over and for the following evening to arrive.

She would be attending the opera tomorrow night and putting her plan into effect to contact him, if he was as she hoped, somewhere in the opera house.

Collecting her luggage she looked for a taxi to take her to the Best Western near the Avenue de l'Opera.

She had been nervous about making her way around Paris on her own, but the French knew enough English, and she still retained some of her high school French to squeak by.

She was deposited at her hotel in the rue d'Antin, which at first glance looked quiet.

She was right in the heart of Paris, and if not for her anxiety over Erik, Christine would have been charmed by her surroundings.

She unpacked her dress for the following evening and shook it out, placing it on a hanger. After a quick shower and change of clothes, she went to the lobby to ask directions to the opera house.

Following the concierge's directions to 1, Place de l'Opera, she approached the building, amazed at the sheer size of the edifice.

Christine could well understand why it had once been known as the world's largest opera house.

She couldn't imagine anything larger, even now.

At the moment, she only wanted to enter the building and look for _him_. She was nearly sick with anxiety and love, but she schooled herself to be patient for a little longer and turned away.

She ate her evening meal at the Cafe de la Paix, a bowl of their famous onion soup, all the while gazing at the view of the opera house from the restaurant's terrace.

She walked back to the hotel in the soft twilight, strolling through drifts of fallen leaves, surrounded by the sights and sounds of an evening in Paris.

She wished fiercely for one thing and one thing only. That tomorrow night she would not be alone anymore.

The next day went agonizingly slow for her.

Sightseeing in this fascinating city would have been a pleasure for her, but she was too keyed up to gain any enjoyment from it.

She promised herself that someday she would do just that, only Erik would be showing her the sights.

She hoped and prayed that would be the case.

Finally it was time to get ready for the opera.

She showered and put on her best dress-a black, a-line silk with pretty soutache applique on the skirt, and a cropped bolero jacket to complete it.

She took her time readying herself. She wanted to look her best for _him._

She called for a cab and arrived at le Palais Garnier, entering the building with a heady mixture of awe and hope.

The Garnier was truly magnificent, the lights giving it a golden glow, the statuary on the roof back-lit and imposing even from a distance.

Christine followed the other patrons to the Grand Staircase, admiring the various colors of the marble and the baroque opulence everywhere she turned.

She made her way up the staircase and was shown to her seat in the auditorium.

It was beautiful by anyone's standards, the reds and golds of the horseshoe shaped theatre lit by the immense crystal chandelier, calling to her love of flamboyant grandeur.

She settled in, waiting for the first sounds of the Orchestre de Paris to begin tuning their instruments.

The opera that evening was Capriccio. Christine wasn't all too familiar with it, but since she was here for an entirely different reason, she only needed it to get her through the next few hours to discover if her dearest hope would come true.

Surrounded by the vibrant color of the Garnier, she watched the first act begin.

By 10:30, the opera had concluded and people were making their way to the entrance.

She had explored some of the house during intermission, and located the ladies room where she would be hiding after the Garnier closed for the night.

As everyone else made their way from the building, she went deeper into it and hid herself in the restroom.

She merely had to wait until the building was entirely deserted, then she could leave her tiny sanctuary.

She had learned that a veritable army of scrubbers, polishers and sweepers, would arrive at 5 a.m. It seemed that no one wanted to work through the night, preferring to start work in the early morning hours and work the day through.

The opera ghost controlled even the cleaning crew.

Maybe if she could get her hands on a vacuum cleaner, _that_ would get Erik's attention.

The time dragged, but soon she heard footsteps approaching the restroom.

The door opened and after a moment of inspection, the light was shut off.

She was standing on the toilet, the partially closed door of the stall blocking her from view, as she crouched low on the seat.

She slipped a small flashlight out of her handbag and clutched it in one trembling hand.

She _was_ nervous about what she was doing.

If she was caught trespassing, it would mean quite a bit of trouble for her and the gendarmes would no doubt be called, but she was committed to finding Erik and that was what she intended to do.

Christine waited until well after midnight, then cautiously stepped out of the ladies room.

There were security lights at intervals that allowed her to see fairly well in the corridor, as she made her way back to the auditorium.

She slowly and quietly approached the proscenium stage with the magnificent painted canvas house curtain.

The theatre _was_ eerie. She could well believe in a phantom's presence in these surroundings.

A sense of unreality washed over her.

She still couldn't believe she was here and doing this.

It gave her the shivers.

She mounted the steps to the stage and stood near the ghost light.

She did a few warm-ups, then took a breath and began the Jewel Song from Faust.

She sang her very best, not truly seeing the red plush seats of the darkened auditorium, but the parlor at home and Erik seated at the grand, talented hands moving across the black and white keys with surety and grace.

Christine reached the last note, registering in the back of her mind, the astounding acoustics of the old theatre.

As the last note swept up and out into the far reaches of the auditorium, her hope began to wither and she stood there arms at her sides, not quite sure what her next move was to be.

She gazed around the stage, glancing to stage right and seeing nothing, but it was as she looked stage left, that she saw the shadows there swirling and writhing in the gloom.

Only _this_ darkness carried within it, two points of glowing light well above the floor.

Not quite believing in what she was seeing, the darkness moved toward her, until the form had coalesced into the shape of a man...her man. Erik.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Time had led them both on a not-so-merry dance over the last few months.

For the most part its tempo had been agonizingly slow.

To Erik's frail mind... it still was.

She wasn't really there, his exhausted brain told him. It was only a dream, but a beautiful one and he would take advantage of it while it lasted, before he suffered upon waking, grasping only empty air.

He would hold her close and kiss her.

Why...he could smell the scent she always wore.

Flowery...yes, roses.

He shook his head, eyes burning and riveted on the small figure in front of him.

It took hours to get across that stage. In reality it was mere moments.

A tiny bud of hope started to spread through him that this was no fever dream; his steadily throbbing leg told him that he was indeed awake.

That this was the one he'd been longing for with all of his soul.

It had no doubt been her beautiful voice he'd heard, and he still shivered from the glorious sound of it.

Christine only watched him approach for a few seconds, before she closed the distance quickly and flung herself into his loving embrace.

Erik wrapped his arms tightly around her with a glad cry, but because of his weakened state and the hasty climb through the opera house, his legs would no longer hold him upright.

She felt him starting to fall, and keeping her arms around his waist, they sank to the floor.

He was able to turn at the last moment and cushion her against the hard stage, but he couldn't stop a groan of pain when his bad leg was jostled.

He held her close, breathing in her scent, still in a state of disbelief that _she_ was here.

She pressed her face into his neck, shock that her plan had actually worked, taking a back seat to her absolute joy at being with him again.

He murmured her name over and over, still caught in the dreamlike quality of having her in his arms once more.

He started to cry then, tears of joy... of blessed relief.

"My love...my dearest love." she said tearfully.

Erik cupped her face and kissed her, the months of loneliness...of heartache...beginning to fall away.

They clung desperately to one another, crying out of sheer happiness, whispering their love to each other between kisses and caresses.

Christine's joy had been such, that it had taken her a few moments to realize that something was wrong.

He was shaking, not from excitement, as she had first thought, but from illness.

"Erik...my God, Erik."

He was overly warm to her touch and breathing heavily-in a weakened state, as evidenced by his collapse to the stage.

She pulled back and regarded him worriedly.

What she saw filled her with alarm. He was if possible, even thinner.

He was trembling badly and obviously unwell.

"Erik?"

He gazed at her, the love and adoration in his eyes making them glow.

She put her hand on his neck, feeling the unnatural heat. His skin had always felt cooler to her touch.

"You're feverish. H...How long have you been like this?"

He ignored her question, instead wanting to know what miracle had brought her to him.

Christine hesitated for a moment, then said softly, "Nadir."

He stiffened momentarily at the mention of his old friend, then relaxed back into her arms.

"Then we are even once more. His son is safe and he has returned you to me."

She stroked his jaw and looked into his tired eyes. "You need to see a doctor."

He shook his head and pulled her close again, touching his forehead to hers and sighing. "_You_ are the only medicine I need."

She held him, whispering all the while of her love.

He closed his eyes in bliss, then hurriedly snapped them open, irrationally fearful again that he was simply dreaming and would wake up alone.

"Do not leave your Erik, Christine. Do not..."

He moved to stand and bring her with him, but his movements were strained and slow. Together though, holding on to one another, they finally made it upright.

"Ah...where can we go to get you off your feet?" she said, with her arms around him.

"My home is below the Garnier. That is where we will be going."

"Below?"

He nodded and turned, leading her back the way he'd come, taking her backstage and from there to a series of bewildering corridors, until they came to a door at the end of the hallway.

He let them into the room, flicking on the light switch beside the door, and taking her hand, limped heavily to a large ornate mirror at the back.

The room was dusty and had a deserted feel to it. At one time it might have been a dressing room; some of the fixtures were quite nice, but its present use was little more than storage now, for there were props from the different operas littering the space. A shame, thought Christine. The mirror alone, was a thing of beauty.

Erik stopped for a moment and leaned tiredly against the wall. Christine took him by the elbow and led him to a chair she spotted.

"Rest a minute." she said gently, squeezing his shoulder.

She had noticed him limping and remarked on it.

"It was healing all right, then a few weeks ago it became swollen and painful."

He sat down, thankful to be off of it.

"Then why didn't you go to a doctor?"

He merely shrugged, not wanting to upset her with the truth.

The truth being a careless disregard for his life without her.

He kissed her hand, then leaned his masked cheek against it.

"You are truly here. This is not a dream...is it?" he asked her hesitantly.

She knelt down on the dirty floor and looked into his eyes.

"No, dear heart. It's not a dream."

He sighed deeply and leaning forward, he took her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his.

He pulled back and said quietly, "I am glad for that. I could not bear it if you were."

He got to his feet again and walked shakily over to the mirror and pressed the side of it.

To her surprise, the mirror slid open soundlessly and Erik beckoned her forward.

"We have some walking to do, ma belle. Are you up for that?"

Christine, still eyeing the blackness looming beyond the antique mirror nodded, and moving over beside him, she tucked her arm through his and together they stepped into the darkness.


	24. Chapter 24

They walked in the damp and chill darkness with arms wrapped around one another. It bothered her that if Erik should collapse in this tunnel, she would have no idea where to go; she would have no choice but to backtrack for help. She held him a little tighter, willing him to keep going.

Erik was loath to let her go.

In his mind, she had re-entered his life so suddenly, that it stood to reason she could leave it just as quickly.

His hold on reality was tenuous at best. He tried to force the cobwebs out of his head, feeling a dizziness which caused him to stumble. For now, he needed to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

He glanced down at the woman holding tightly to him. He stopped abruptly in the passage and cradling her head with his long fingers, he kissed her, plundering her mouth.

As sick as he felt, her taste was still delightful to him. He had hungered for this for far too long...his fingers were restless on her face...stroking and touching her eyes, her cheeks...everything he had denied himself.

It occurred to him once more, that this could all be a magnificent lie his confused and weary brain had dreamed up. With their own will, his hands left her face and traveled down her body, feeling her sweet curves. _She _was solid and warm.

He reluctantly broke the kiss and struggled to control his breathing, his surroundings seeming to shift and move around him.

Christine had both arms around him, murmuring words of comfort, frightened by his weakness.

After a few minutes, they continued on.

She was in awe of her surroundings. In all her imaginings, she'd never have thought he could live in such an environment.

The stone passages were dank and depressing-far from healthy, the walls shiny from moisture. She heard noises in that stygian darkness. Rustlings in corners and the plink, plink of water dripping from the ceiling and walls.

Their footsteps sounded hollow and amplified back to them from the vaulted blackness surrounding them.

She shivered from the cold, and Erik seeing it, shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her small shoulders.

She tried to hand it back to him, citing his illness, but he shook his head.

"I'm more than accustomed to the cold down here. You however, are not."

She very soon realized he would not budge on this, so continued on, clutching his arm tightly, lending him her strength.

The completely irrelevant thought occurred to her that she spent entirely too much time walking long distances with him, in shoes vastly unsuited for it.

In dark and dank tunnels.

But they stopped often, her concern for him growing as he became more exhausted.

But finally they made it to a...lake?

She didn't think there could be many more surprises, but here they both stood beside a body of chill, black water that stretched off into the gloom. A small wooden boat was tied to a little dock.

Her jaw had dropped at the uniqueness of it all, her mind trying to disconnect the fact that they were still in the opera house, which was five stories over their heads.

He took her hand to help her into the boat, but instead pulled her into his arms again and kissed her.

Bending down from his superior height, he leaned his forehead against hers. "You are _everything_ to me." he whispered.

"I love you too, Erik. You'll never know how much."

"I...I bless... whatever gods brought you back... to me."

He kissed her once more and helped her into the little boat, then slowly and carefully got in himself.

She insisted on rowing them across the lake, still shaking her head at the ridiculous notion of a lake in an opera house.

He refused her offer and proceeded to wield the oars, unable to look away from her, feeding his weary soul after the famine it had endured for so long.

Halfway across he stopped rowing, panting and shivering uncontrollably, what little strength he'd had was used up.

Christine very carefully got up and moved over beside him.

"I'll row us across. Just show me the way."

She put her arm around his thin shoulders and gently shook him. He nodded, and with bleary eyes, he gave her the direction; after ten minutes or so of clumsy rowing, thankfully they were there, tying up to another tiny dock.

The amount of light in the vastness of the underground world of the cellars, had never been much, but her eyes had adjusted a bit to the gloom, and she was able to make out some detail. It seemed no more than a rocky cavern to her, and bore no relation to an edifice dedicated to music and dance.

It was if anything, hostile to her senses, and she hated the thought of Erik living alone in this place. The ever present dankness and cold, coupled with the darkness, was enough to dampen the most ebullient spirit. It was hardly any surprise to her, that his touch had always felt chill. The environment from this place, had more than likely, seeped into his very bones and no amount of sunshine would warm him.

Christine threw the looped line over the iron hook set into the dock post, then turned to Erik who was sitting with head down, hands dangling between his knees and doing his best to keep awake.

She put her hand under his elbow and got him shakily to his feet. They somehow got out of the boat without tipping it over, and she put her arm around him and supported him over to the wooden door, cleverly recessed beneath the natural stone of the underground.

Erik managed to open it and they crossed the threshold, entering his home. As hostile as the world outside his door seemed to be, _this_ was the exact opposite. It was warm and welcoming and reflected a taste that was refined...even elegant.

Christine would never forget her first glimpse of his house under the opera.

Her first thought was that he lived better underground than many did above it.

Beautiful paneled walls in a warm cherry wood. A stone fireplace with a wide mantle of the same rich color, and Persian carpets scattered over basketweave parquet flooring in warm shades of caramel and cinnamon.

There was a hallway on each side of the entry leading off to other rooms. For now she only wanted to find the bedroom. She felt it to be paramount to get him into bed.

When she requested the direction to his room, he sighed wearily and rested his chin on top of her head.

"Y...You have only just returned to me. I have no intention of...l... letting you out of my sight."

She could be stubborn too.

"You're sick and that leg of yours needs to be treated by a doctor, Erik. I'm not leaving you...I'll be right here for as long as you want. Okay?"

He had to believe her. He was very close to collapse and he knew it. He cursed himself for not taking better care of his health, but it was too late to mourn what couldn't be undone.

So with Christine's arm around him, they entered his room and she helped him lay down on the bed, after which she removed his shoes and covered him with the blankets.

His bedroom at first glance, consisted mostly of deep shades of maroon and black, with black being the predominant color. The furniture including the large bed was a rich mahogany, with more of the beautiful Persian rugs spread over the parquet flooring as in the rest of his home.

He sighed heavily and reached for her hand. "I am sorry you...you have found me like this...C...Christine," his voice slurred and becoming faint. "You deserve m...much better than this...b...broken carcass."

She brought his hand to her lips. "Hush. We're together and that's all that matters."

She tucked the covers snugly around him and tried again. "You need a doctor, Erik."

He was cold, and the shivering was uncontrollable; his body felt heavy...unresponsive to his will and the panic crept in, causing him to force himself up toward Christine, grabbing for her hand once more.

"Do...do not leave me. S'il te... plait, mon coeur. Je t'aime...je t'aime!"

She gently forced him back on the pillows, talking quietly to him the entire time...soothing him with her voice, trying to ease his anxiety.

"Shh...relax. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise."

She took his hand and held it tightly, giving the thin fingers a reassuring squeeze.

He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Each lid had five pounds of weight attached, forcing them closed, but still he fought the blackness trying to take him. He concentrated mightily on the warmth and softness of _her_ hand...the gentleness of _her _voice, and felt calmer for it.

He was deathly afraid to close his eyes. He feared she would be gone when he awoke.

That he had hallucinated her beautiful face and loving arms.

"On...on my desk. Address book. B...Bernard...he will..."

He lost the battle and slipped into unconsciousness.

Christine put her hand to his neck, and with a sigh of relief, realized he was only asleep.

She spread her hand over the center of his chest, reassured at the strong and steady beat of his heart.

She watched him a moment longer, then went looking for his desk.

She exited his room and tried the door across the hall from his, finding another bedroom.

Next, she opened the door at the end of the hall, and could only stare at what looked like any doctor's examining room she'd ever been in. The room was small, but held a wheeled table, a sink and metal counter and a large stainless steel lamp. An array of assorted drugs and bins holding medical supplies, took up a goodly portion of the counter.

The night had been strange enough. This merely was the icing on the proverbial cake. Just another surprising anomaly of her masked man. She shrugged her shoulders helplessly and very gently closed the door.

She returned to the entry and went down the other hallway.

A quick glance through the first doorway on the left, revealed a modern kitchen with oak cabinetry and black countertops. A round glass table edged in black chrome with two black chairs sat in the far corner. The room was well lit with recessed pot lighting in the ceiling, and three long stemmed black pendant lights, suspended over the counter.

She continued down the hall, until she came to another door.

Upon opening it she found a music room, an ebony grand piano taking up one corner of the large room, music sheets spread haphazardly over much of the dusty surface. She had noticed the dust thick everywhere in his apartment, and his usual neatness was absent in the few rooms she'd been inside.

The rest of the paneled room was filled with books, more books, a guitar leaning against the wall, and a saxophone resting on top of a wooden cabinet filled with what looked like more sheets of music. And what she sought, sitting opposite from the grand... a large roll top desk.

Christine located the address book in the top drawer and went rapidly through the very short list of names written there, until she found a Bernard Prideux.

She prayed that they would be able to understand each other for Erik's sake. She picked up the phone on the desk and tapped in the number, then waited impatiently for someone to answer.

When a man did, she let out a pent up sigh of relief and tried English.

"Hello...I'm calling for Erik Reauchard. Is this Bernard Prideux?"

She heard nothing for a moment, then warily, "Yes, this is he." He paused and said hesitantly, "This is highly unusual, Mademoiselle. Explain, s'il vous plait."

And so she did. After she was done, it became clear to him who this woman was.

Erik's woman...the very same one who had caused him such misery.

But first things first.

"I know exactly what to do, Mademoiselle Daae. I will be there in an hour at the latest." Then he added, "Do not worry. This has happened before."

And on that cryptic note he hung up, leaving Christine to return to Erik.

She was disturbed to find him tossing restlessly in bed and with labored breathing.

She left hurriedly and found a bowl, filling it with cold water and got a small towel from the adjoining bathroom.

She dragged a chair close to the bed and sat down, wringing out the cloth and placing it on his neck to cool him down.

If she could have one wish, it would be to have followed him here soon after he left her. To have all this time pass as he became weaker and her not knowing, struck her to the core.

It was obvious that he had no one except for Mr. Prideux, and Erik hadn't seen fit to bother him with the particulars of his gunshot wound.

That night in the clearing when he'd been hurt, surrounded by his enemies, she'd been terrified of what would happen to them...but underneath it all, she had known how strong he was...how very capable to handle situations that would cause other men to falter.

He had sworn to keep her safe that night...he had done just that and had suffered greatly for it.

And now he was flat on his back and no longer strong enough to deal with his sickness alone.

But as she watched him, she slowly came to the conclusion that the mask needed to come off so he could breathe easier.

The thought made her uneasy, but she fought down the fear before it could take hold.

His life was all that mattered to her, not her sensibilities. She refused to consider any outcome other than his complete recovery from this.

Her hands shaking, she reached for the ties and carefully lifted the mask away.


	25. Chapter 25

She sat motionless looking down at the mask in her hands, then bracing herself she looked at Erik.

Christine sucked in a breath, but kept her eyes on his face.

The night in the clearing came back to her and her first glimpse of that haunted visage.

She gazed on him for a long while, getting used to the odd contours of his facial bones and the absence of a nose, the skin seemingly transparent and delicate.

It was still very unsettling to her, but she felt that with time its appearance might become commonplace.

No...never commonplace.

She took a deep breath and stretched a hand out to his face, her fingers very lightly caressing one misshapen cheek.

She looked at him a moment longer, then followed her fingers with a shaky kiss to the mottled flesh. His eyelids fluttered but he remained asleep, his breathing already becoming quieter.

She sat there beside his bed holding tightly to his hand while he slept fitfully.

He _was_ much thinner-almost dangerously so. His clothing had been rumpled and creased, looking slept in. He wasn't his usual impeccable self- his hair was unkempt and lackluster. It was obvious to her that he hadn't been taking care of himself.

She wrung the cloth out many times over the next hour, placing it on his forehead and sitting quietly by his side, silently willing him to recover until she heard voices in the front of the house.

Christine was torn. Erik would not want his face uncovered in front of others, but his health was her only real consideration and so it remained off.

She got up and went out to meet Mr. Prideux.

Two men stood by the front door, one holding a black satchel. A thin, curly haired man in his early thirties, gave her a tentative smile and stepped forward with his hand out.

"Mademoiselle Daae? I am Bernard Prideux and this is Dr. Maurice Bonnet. Do not worry, the doctor will look after Monsieur Reauchard."

She smiled hesitantly and shook hands with Monsieur Prideux, then looked at the doctor.

"I have to tell you that his breathing was harsh, so I...I removed his mask. Was that all right?"

The men looked at her in surprise, then Dr. Bonnet smiled. "Why yes. That was the correct thing to do."

Bernard was amazed that the little mademoiselle had been able to stand the sight of Erik's face. He could still be disturbed by it on the rare occasions it had been revealed to him.

The middle-aged, portly doctor smiled politely. "We can manage now, if you please. Kindly wait out here until I've made my examination."

She almost refused, wanting, no...needing to be with him, but she found herself agreeing and sat down on the couch to wait.

Ten minutes later, Dr. Bonnet came out of Erik's room and approached her.

"His thigh is abscessed, Mademoiselle. The bullet was extracted, but some small pieces of metal were left behind. The wound needs to be reopened, drained and the slivers removed."

"Will he be all right? How...how can you treat him in his bedroom?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not his bedroom. The room at the end of the hall is set up for that. Monsieur Reauchard has required my services before. Bernard will help me get him ready."

He shrugged.

"He's a strong man, no doubt, but at the moment he's malnourished and sick from the thigh wound. Recovery will take a while, but with care and regular meals he will get better."

"But shouldn't he be in a hospital, Dr. Bonnet?" she asked, vastly relieved that Erik would recover.

The doctor looked at her impatiently.

"You will have to ask Monsieur Reauchard about that, Mademoiselle Daae. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to proceed."

She took up her place on the couch once again, hands twisting nervously in her lap. Tired, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Thoughts chased each other and pinwheeled round and round in her mind, until her thoughts darkened and she got restlessly to her feet.

What if he gets worse? No, she castigated herself... he will be fine. _He will be fine. _She repeated it over and over, until it became her mantra and she finally started to believe it.

She wandered into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, Bernard eventually joining her for a cup. She stood at the counter, stirring powdered creamer into her coffee.

"Monsieur, um...you said that this has happened before..."

"Oui...please, call me Bernard. Erik will not go into a hospital." He shrugged and took a sip from his mug. "I'm sure you know the reason why, and so the hospital must come to him. Believe me, Mademoiselle, Dr. Bonnet is very professional and takes every precaution with his patient."

She set her cup down and yawned tiredly. "Erik told me once that he had tried surgery for his face; he must have been in a hospital then."

"Yes, twelve years ago it was. He admitted himself into a private hospital about two hours from Paris. The surgeons were well known and very skilled, but Erik's uh...unique looks, caused them much curiosity. He wasn't a very good candidate for the reconstruction required but they proceeded anyway. They..."

He stopped and took another sip of his coffee, then fiddled with his spoon.

"Go on...say it. I love Erik and I'm not leaving...no matter what."

Bernard sighed and lowered his voice. "I don't think he would want you to know this...

"The doctors...his surgeons, wanted to study him. As if he were a rare bug under glass, especially his eyes and the way they shine in the dark."

She was horrified. "He went to them for help and _that's_ what they did to him?"

He nodded. "He nearly tore apart his room and injured a male nurse trying to restrain him. They had approached him earlier that day about examining him in-depth. I had only worked for him a year; he was...quite intimidating then..."

He smiled wryly, "As he still is, but he had me get him discharged that very day, and I found Dr. Bonnet for him a few weeks later. The one surgery he'd had, did not go well...he developed an infection. He was disgusted by the whole ordeal, so Dr. Bonnet sees to him here on the occasions his service has been required."

Christine was nearly overcome with sadness.

"So that's why he keeps that room...my poor Erik." she whispered.

"It is provident that you are here, Mademoiselle. You will be good for him, I think.

"Don't worry. Dr. Bonnet takes excellent care of him. He needed help once for a stab wound he had received, and the doctor treated him then as well. He is paid for his services _and_ his silence."

He grinned disarmingly. "I sometimes think one picks up more germs in hospitals than in their own home."

She had joined him at the table and shook her head at that. "Not everything can be handled outside of a hospital though, Bernard. I'm frightened for him. And it's Christine."

She looked up and smiled weakly. "It hurts to see him like this."

He has you here now." He paused a moment debating, then said, "He loves you very much, Christine. This I know."

"I would have been here months ago, if I'd known he was so sick."

"He very nearly came to you about then."

"What do you mean?" she said startled.

"Just that. He was packing to come see you...then changed his mind. He'd been back in Paris about a month by then. He said you wouldn't want to see him. He was very sad."

This upset her. "Wouldn't want to see him? My God...I couldn't think of anything _but_ him!

"He...he's been through so much... I just wish I could have been here sooner. It would have saved us both a lot of heartache."

Her chin wobbled a bit, then she straightened up and looked at her watch. "I'll be getting my things from the hotel later today, once I know he's okay. He's going to need someone to take care of him."

"He will be fine...you'll see."

He paused, then said firmly. "Everything I have just told you is confidential and should never get back to Erik. He would be very angry with me. He would not want you to know any of this...it would shame him in your eyes."

"Of course. You can trust me."

He nodded and left her.

Nearly two hours had passed by; time she spent cleaning the kitchen... after months of neglect, it was clean once again. With her worry over Erik, she couldn't sit still, so when the doctor entered the living room shrugging his coat on, she approached him anxiously.

"He's resting quietly now...which is good; along with the bullet wound, he's suffering from exhaustion. He'll need to take things very slow for a while. I removed some metal slivers from the wound and allowed it to drain. I've given him a shot for the pain and started him on antibiotics. With care, he will do well enough."

Christine felt weak with relief.

"He needs someone to stay with him, Mademoiselle Daae. Can you?"

"Yes. Whatever it takes to get him well again. May I...can I see him now?"

The doctor nodded and turned to speak to Bernard who had just come out of the room at the end of the hall.

She tip-toed into Erik's room and sat in the chair beside his bed, watching him for a while.

He was asleep, the shadowed deep-set sockets surrounding eyes tightly shut, their lashes thick and dark against his pallid skin.

He was resting easier now, which was a huge weight off of her mind. He was so still in fact, she again placed her hand over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart and she immediately relaxed.

After placing a light kiss on his mouth, she walked out to find the two men conferring.

It was decided that Dr. Bonnet would stay with Erik, while Bernard took Christine back to the hotel to gather her things and check out of her room.

She was still in her black dress, and desperately wanted a shower and change of clothes.

They left Erik's home, but traveled out a different way, Bernard explaining that they were leaving by the rue Scribe exit.

They walked steadily upward, the way lit by cleverly concealed low voltage lamps, keeping the blackness of their surroundings at bay.

They chatted on the way, Bernard telling Christine about his long association with Erik, without giving much detail and stories of his five children.

She gave him some of her background and he'd been pleasantly surprised at her hometown.

"Oh mon Dieu, Christine!" he had laughed. "My father was there ten years ago! He was at one time, a very dedicated re-enactor...he wore the uniform of a regiment from the state of Virginia. He is a serious student of the American Civil War."

This got them started on a whole new topic, and by the time they reached the street level, they were well on the way to being friends.

Before long, they walked up to a set of antique iron doors set into the foundation of the opera house.

Bernard unlocked the door on the right and led her out into the early morning darkness, the air smelling fresh and clean after the dank underground.

They walked to his car parked on the corner and he drove her to the hotel, where she quickly showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a pullover sweater.

Feeling more awake, she gathered her clothes together, checked out of her room and joined Bernard in the lobby.

"Your wife must be very understanding, Bernard. You've been out half the night."

"She understands the nature of the work I do for Erik. Besides, he's not often in Paris. He's been known to travel quite a bit, which makes Celine very happy." he said dryly.

Christine heard something in his voice she didn't care for.

"Uh, your wife...she doesn't like Erik very much, does she?"

"Non, she's afraid of him, I think."

She nodded and changed the subject, asking him to stop at a market for some things, and she quickly gathered the groceries she needed. She had taken stock of Erik's kitchen earlier and found he was out of almost everything. From the number of cans which had littered the counter, it would seem soup was mainly what he'd been eating...for months.

By the time they arrived back at the opera house, they were both loaded down with bags, plus her luggage.

Bernard opened the front door and immediately came upon a flustered Dr. Bonnet.

She dropped her bags in the entry and started toward Erik's bedroom, where she could hear the sound of breakage and her name being called in a frantic voice.

The doctor followed behind explaining.

"He woke up Mam'selle, and became agitated when you weren't there. I tried to tell him you would be back, but he wouldn't listen."

Christine didn't slow down until she reached his room.

He was leaning heavily on the dresser, pain evident by the tightness around his mouth, mask once again back in place.

The two men had dressed Erik in a pair of black pajamas, the left pajama leg slit to just above his pale and bony knee-a neat, white bandage secured there.

The few items that had been on the top of the dresser were now on the floor, a handsome cloisonne lamp in pieces.

She hurried over to him and put her arm around his waist, chiding him gently. "Back to bed for you, Monsieur. What are you doing out of it anyway?"

He shook his head and put his arms around her gratefully. Leaning down, he pressed his face into her neck, letting out a shuddering sigh.

"You were gone...I...I thought I dreamed you..." He held onto her tightly. "Do not leave your Erik. He loves you so..."

Bernard and the doctor were standing in the doorway and she shook her head at them, indicating for them to stay away.

She slowly led him back to the bed, all the while murmuring words of comfort to calm him. She settled the bedclothes over him, taking special care of his injured leg.

She sat down in the chair and took his hand, his gripping back tightly. "I'm not going anywhere, dear heart. I'm staying right here until your healthy again."

She smoothed his hair back and smiled. "I came thousands of miles to find you. Why would I desert you now, hmm?"

He nodded wearily and closed his eyes, his grip gradually loosening and going limp in her grasp.

She watched him for a while until his breathing deepened and she knew he was asleep. She got up quietly and went out to the living room, where Bernard was waiting for her.

"The doctor left instructions for Erik's care. He'll be back later today to check on him and change the dressing. He said to phone if he gets any worse. Oh, and I put the food away and your luggage is in the other bedroom."

He regarded her quietly for a moment.

"Are you going to be all right alone here with him?"

She nodded and smiled tiredly. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Christine thanked him and promised to call if she needed anything and saw him out. She went back into Erik's room and cleaned up the things he'd knocked on the floor, then took her seat beside his bed.

She pulled the blankets up to his chin and tucked them close to his too thin body. Then she took his hand in both of hers, stroking the long fingers, content just to be with him once more.


	26. Chapter 26

Christine straightened up and yawned. She had fallen asleep and slipped down sideways in the chair...her body was protesting the fact. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, then looked over at Erik who was still sleeping. He'd need the time to recover...his body was worn out; lots of rest was what he required and she intended to see that he got it.

She went into the adjoining bathroom and washed the sleep from her eyes; later she would put her clothes away in the extra bedroom where she would be staying. But first she began chicken soup for his dinner. Dr. Bonnet wanted him to have light meals three or four times a day, plus as many liquids as she could get him to drink. She had fruit juices and bottled mineral water in the fridge, plus milk, tea and coffee.

After getting the chicken stock going she started working on the vegetables, chopping them up, then adding them to the pot. She seasoned it carefully, keeping the broth on the bland side, so his stomach wouldn't rebel against it.

Once that was done, she called Mama Valerius, filling her in on what had transpired. She was vague about her return to the States; she had no intention of leaving him anytime soon.

Afterwards, she went to his music room searching for a book to while away the time with.

She chuckled viewing all the titles, realizing that Erik was not a man prone to lightweight novels. Instead, he had books on science, medicine and the arts, plus quite a few of the classics.

She finally chose a large tome about the history of the world...it was in English, one of only a handful that were, and thought it would keep her occupied for a while.

On the way out, she spotted a small table holding a sketch book. On the very top was a pencil drawing of herself.

It was a very good likeness of her and done with quite a bit of skill.

It was a sketch of Christine sitting on the rock that day at Little Round Top when they were just getting to know one another.

The day they had truly begun their relationship, and she'd started the journey to where she was right now.

Underneath that drawing were many others in varying poses. The sketch book was the same. She was the only subject of literally hundreds of drawings.

"Oh, Erik." she whispered.

She returned to his bedside and watched him for a while. Her hands itched to remove the mask, knowing he could only breathe better without it.

Besides, she needed to get used to seeing his face, and sooner rather than later.

She sighed and began reading.

"You are really here. I thought you were only a beautiful dream, and I would wake to find you gone."

Christine looked up at Erik quietly watching her.

"I'm not a dream, dearest." she said softly.

His lips quirked as he gestured at the large unwieldy book.

"You were obviously planning on remaining in that chair for quite a while, yes?"

She smiled back and put the book down, reaching over to feel his neck. It turned into a caress and he closed his eyes at her touch.

"How do you feel?" She had always considered it inane to ask a person flat on their back and obviously unwell, how they were doing, but found the words slipping from her mouth anyway.

"Very well." he said, the tiredness in his voice belying the fact. "I will not lie here much longer."

"Oh but you aren't going _anywhere_, my man." she said with a glint in her eye. "You're sick. Doctor's orders."

She removed her hand from his neck and sat back in her chair. "Why weren't you taking better care of yourself? It's obvious you haven't been eating very much. You're too thin...well, thinner than you were. And your leg...why, Erik?"

He searched her eyes, seeing the concern and felt ashamed.

"Because I did not want to live anymore." he whispered, then turned his head away.

She felt incredible sadness that he had been suffering so much while they'd been apart. So had she, but he'd been alone and sick.

Christine leaned forward and gently grasped his chin, turning his head back toward her. His yellow eyes were bloodshot and suspiciously bright.

"I love you." She stroked his chin, "We need to talk...a lot, but now is not the time...we have to get you better first."

Erik threaded his hand through her hair and cupped the back of her head, pulling her mouth to his. There was no fire in the kiss, just a sweet melding of their lips, promising more.

"I never thought I would see you again. It was...very difficult for me to get past that fact." he said quietly.

He looked at her as if he was trying to memorize every detail of her face...to save her living image against the moment when she would no longer be there.

"When I returned here, I failed to take into consideration how quickly you had become my entire world."

He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers. He pulled back and smiled.

"And now you care for me so diligently...so tenderly. You are the first to ever do so. I am at a loss...to understand why you love _me_, but knowing you do, is everything to me..._everything_."

"You did the same for me in Gettysburg...it's my turn to take care of you."

"You owe me nothing. I am only sorry that I put you in danger...it was _never_ my intent."

"Hush...That doesn't matter now. I _want_ to take care of you, Erik."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, then closed his eyes.

She stood up and straightened his blankets, then got him a glass of water and the medications left by Dr. Bonnet.

She glanced at him one more time, then left to get his supper.

Erik settled back against the pillows, chafing impatiently at his predicament, the dull steady throb from his leg reminding him of his foolish disregard for his well being.

His great joy and relief at having Christine by his side again, was tempered by the fact that he was weak and hurting.

He should be showing her Paris-taking her above for an evening of opera, having a candlelight dinner or quietly loving her.

Instead he was flat on his back, nearly helpless and his angel had to nurse his ugly carcass.

He sighed wearily, disgusted with himself, but unable to feel too bad, for wasn't Christine in _his_ kitchen?

Making herself comfortable in _his_ home?

Eventually they would have their talk. He was curious as to why she had decided to find him.

He would be forever grateful that she had.

Her coming to him had literally saved his life, for he knew without a doubt, he wouldn't have gone on for much longer.

At times it still felt as if he was wrapped in a beautiful, but impossible dream and wondered if he would always feel that way. After all...when does the monster _ever_ get the happy ending in the fairy tale?

Christine put two bowls of soup on the tray table, then carried it down the hallway and into Erik's room.

He watched her come through the door. Christine caring for _him_. He closed his eyes momentarily, fighting the tears.

She helped him sit up to eat and settled the tray over his lap. There was soup, some crackers and a glass of tomato juice for him to dine on. She intended to see that he consumed all of it. She took one of the bowls of soup and sat in the chair near the bed.

Dr. Bonnet had stressed to her, not to overload his stomach; several light meals a day would suffice. She didn't think Erik's stomach would _ever_ be overloaded. Whether he was just normally a very light eater, or his lack of a nose cut down on hunger stimulation, she wasn't sure.

They talked while they ate...Christine telling him about the opera, Capriccio that she had seen the night before and her first impressions of Paris. Erik was well informed on the various musical skills of the cast, particularly the soprano, Carlotta, citing her lack of range and sloppy tone.

"You could be much better than her, my dear and without much effort."

She grinned and shook her head. "I think you're a little prejudiced."

He tilted his chin up and looked at her earnestly. "I heard your voice the night before and I...uh... I thought..."

He put his hands over his eyes and took a ragged breath.

She got up from her chair and sat down beside him on the bed, putting the tray aside and pulled him into her arms, holding him close. He clung to her tightly and sighed, nuzzling his masked face into her neck.

They sat that way in a contented silence, each knowing how miserable they'd been apart. Finally she drew back, kissed his masked cheek and stood up.

She took the tray from Erik and placed it by the door. She had managed to get him to down most of the soup and all of the juice. She was satisfied.

She approached the bed again, straightening the blankets over him.

"Can I get you anything else?"

Erik took her hand and held it tightly, running his thumb in circles over the back.

"I will be forever thankful that you came here for...for me."

He looked down at her small hand swallowed in his larger one and turning it over, threaded their fingers together.

She sat down on the edge of the bed again looking at him steadily, unable to keep silent any longer.

"You left me, Erik." she said finally. "You just disappeared that night. It was...terribly hard, not knowing _how_ you were..._where_ you were."

She stopped, then continued in a low voice.

"I didn't think you would ever come back. I... I knew my only choice was to come to you.

"Why did you leave me?" her eyes were haunted, and he felt a twinge of guilt. "I missed you so much."

"Why?" he whispered. He paused, choosing his words. "Because you are a bright and lovely woman. I have not been a kind man. _Ever. _Quite the opposite actually. I simply meant to protect you from...from me."

He dropped his eyes, momentarily reliving the agony of leaving her behind that awful night.

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Erik forestalled her and raised a hand.

"No. At least admit to yourself what I am. A _killer_. For money. You found out what I am capable of..." he stuttered a little but continued, "and last but not the least of it, my quite handsome face...a veritable gargoyle, is it not? Your expression when you first viewed it, was _very_ telling.

"But to answer your question, quite simply...I _love_ you."

She realized then, just what he had sacrificed for her.

She leaned toward him, placing her hand alongside his neck and kissed him.

"I love you so very much." She laughed as her eyes filled with tears. "Promise me, Erik...you'll never leave like that again."

He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them over and over.

_"_No...never again." he agreed. "That mindset has changed forever. I _ached_ for you every minute of the day when I returned here. You are mine now and I refuse to ever let you go.

"_Mine_."


	27. Chapter 27

Christine leaned down and kissed him lightly. "I don't want you to let me go, Erik. I can live with your face _and_ your past...but I can't live without you."

He pulled her down and held her close, her cheek resting on his bony chest.

He kissed the top of her head, and rubbed her back in gentle and languid strokes, eliciting a sigh from her.

"Mmm...you have magic hands. I could stay here all night."

She stretched like a contented house cat under her master's touch.

"Why don't you?" he replied warmly...hopefully.

She colored up, realizing what she'd just said. Embarrassed, she pulled out of his arms and stood up.

He had been enjoying her warmth-the feel of her in his arms and felt cheated when she left them.

But he could tell she was tired...because of him.

"You have done more than enough for today, ma petite. I am fine. Rest now."

Christine nodded, taking the tray to the kitchen. After cleaning up she was by this time exhausted, and after checking on Erik one more time, she kissed him good night, heading for her room and some much needed sleep.

The room was nice and the bed looked comfortable. She didn't think she would have any trouble sleeping tonight. She longed to stretch her body out and rest.

Dr. Bonnet would be back in the morning. He had changed the dressing on Erik's leg late that afternoon, and was pleased with the appearance of the wound.

She yawned as she made her way to the bathroom and readied herself for the night. _His_ big bed had looked welcoming to her, but when he'd invited her to stay she'd balked.

She'd never been in bed with a man before. Not that she hadn't considered it, especially after the warm thoughts of _him_ she'd been having.

His hands on her back had felt heavenly...his strong musician's fingers kneading muscles that had become tense and strained from lack of sleep.

Music wasn't the only thing those hands were capable of, her mind whispered insidiously. They were also the skilled hands of a killer. Hands that touched her with love, had taken lives indiscriminately...

_Those_ hands had killed Asad Behzadi.

She blanched at the thought, because once acknowledged, it wouldn't leave.

_Was_ a killer, she amended. Christine knew she couldn't turn back time and undo all the harm Erik had done, and she didn't know how she could continue loving a man with a murderous bent.

But it was a moot point.

She had already wrestled with this knowledge long ago. And _nothing_ had changed for her.

High road or low...it really didn't matter anymore. Her pathway had been chosen the night Erik had stumbled into her arms onstage.

Or perhaps, long before then...on the night a young woman met a tall masked man who had proceeded to turn her world upside down.

She shivered, feeling a chill surrounding her.

How to reconcile her gentle upbringing with wanting the arms of an assassin around her? What would her father have thought of _him?_

But he had protected her; kept her safe as he said he would. If not for Erik's _and_ Philippe's brutal instincts for survival, _they _would be the ones dead that night.

She shuddered and shook off her gloomy thoughts, knowing her fate with Erik had already been sealed.

She got into her pajamas and walked over to the door, listening for any sounds coming from his room. It was quiet, but she decided to leave her door open, just in case.

She slipped into bed and pulled the covers up against the chill of the sheets. She smiled, thinking of the close proximity to her love. He was just across the hall; she closed her eyes, happier than she'd been in months, her good mood restored.

And _he _was happier too.

Around four in the morning a sound made her sit up in bed.

She had awakened confused, thinking for a moment groggily that she was in her bed at home, and needed to get up and get ready for work...then she remembered.

Rubbing her eyes, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and reaching for her robe, shrugged into it then turned on the bedside lamp.

She walked across the hall, nearly bumping into him when his tall form suddenly filled the doorway.

Erik reached out to steady her then pulled her into his arms.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I needed something for the pain. Return to bed, my dear."

"Uh uh..._you_ go back to bed...I'll get your meds."

She ushered him back to bed, then gave him his pill, tucking him in once again. He sighed in resignation as he settled back on the pillows.

She was quite the little nurse, his Christine.

He wouldn't admit it to her, but it wasn't pain that made him get up.

He had simply wanted to look at her, making sure once again, that she was truly in his home.

In his life.

Call it his suspicious nature...the shifting perceptions within his own mind.

He had watched her sleeping from the doorway of her room, enchanted by her tousled blonde hair on the pillow and one small hand curled beneath her cheek.

He probably could have watched her for the rest of the night, leaning heavily on the door jamb, so charmed by her sleeping form was he, but he inadvertently ruined it for himself.

His bad leg had cramped, and shifting his position, he'd hit the door slightly and awakened her.

How different his perspective, now that_ she_ was here. His mind was free of the morbid thoughts he'd been having.

He wanted nothing more than what he saw directly in front of him. This young woman who had so quickly worked her way into his once dead heart... that very particular organ, wishing to beat only for her.

He was quite hopelessly in love with her...and it was at times disconcerting to him, that one human being had that much power over him, where none ever had before.

She leaned down and placed a kiss on his neck.

"See you later this morning." she said and turned to leave the room.

"Christine? Do not leave."

She turned back and he gestured to the bed.

"Stay, please? Nothing will happen, I promise you."

He paused, then said quietly. "I will rest better with you beside me."

She hesitated briefly. Not because she didn't want to, and not because she didn't trust him. She did...implicitly.

It was unknown territory for her. As much as she loved him, she was shy about sleeping with him.

But she hadn't come all this way to insist on the proprieties.

She smiled nervously and approached the bed. "Okay, but on one condition."

He waited, but what she asked him to do, was not what he had expected to hear.

"Take off your mask and I'll stay."

Erik opened his mouth to argue and Christine pushed ahead.

"Look...you wouldn't normally sleep with it on, would you? And before you say anything else..._I_ took it off you yesterday morning so you could breathe better and I was just fine with it."

Well...she would be eventually.

She paused, seeing anger and fear in his eyes, but that faded to be replaced with a nervous inevitability.

He was discomfited by her request, he'd become used to their relationship the way it had always been.

Himself, Christine, and...the mask. She had _seen_ his monstrous face and he could not fathom_ why_ she wished to be exposed to it again.

He felt diminished without it...weaker and exposed, but more to the point...how long before she realized just how truly horrible his death's head was?

But by not granting her request, it would surely in the end, do just as much damage to their relationship. Perhaps for now, she would look at him, be properly frightened, and encourage him to cover his face once more.

But he was hesitant just the same.

"Be very careful what you ask for, my dear." he muttered.

With that in mind, and aware of the fact that he found it difficult to say _no_ to her, he reached for the ties with shaking hands.

He watched her face closely, waiting for the look of horror he knew he was bound to see and proceeded to untie his mask.

Christine kept her eyes on his the whole time, knowing one sign of fear or disgust on her part would ruin everything.

He slipped the mask slowly from his face, the look of love in her gaze never changing, making him weak with relief.

She got into bed and switched off her lamp and lay down. She felt awkward and shy and couldn't help trembling a little.

He won't bite you, silly, she thought, and felt a nervous giggle trying to escape, when she pictured Erik lunging across the bed at her like the Big Bad Wolf.

He carefully turned toward her and tucked the covers around her.

Christine realized she had to break some ice. She had been invited to stay, but Erik sans his shield from the world, was at his most vulnerable, so she scooted closer to him and put her head tentatively on his shoulder.

"Mmm, this _is_ much nicer, I have to admit. Is...is this what you had in mind, my love?"

Erik said nothing for a full minute...he couldn't, even if he'd tried.

In his long and violent life, no one had ever been this close to him willingly.

To be _wanted_ like this_,_ had always been outside the realm of possibility for one such as him.

Yet _she_ came to him with love-had cared for him...

And now she was offering him something else.

Acceptance.

Maybe to become an integral part of the world again.

Erik took her carefully into his arms and tilted her face to his.

"I could not possibly wish for anything more than this. Yes, exactly what I had in mind, my Christine." he said hoarsely, giving her a sweet and gentle kiss.

He nuzzled her throat. "I have longed for this... for three months...five days and... seven hours."

She chuckled, feeling calmer. "What? No minutes? Or seconds?"

He tilted his head contemplating her question. "Down to the minutes and seconds, eh?"

She was getting _very_ comfortable in his arms and snuggled a little closer to him.

"I was teasing you. Sometimes it's hard to grasp the intricacies of your mind."

"Ah, but life is much more interesting with a little mystery, yes?"

"Yes." she whispered, and placed a light and delicate kiss to one deformed cheek.

His nerve endings were alive and very sensitive to the feel of her lips against skin, which had never felt the touch of another.

His eyes slid shut and he settled into a comfort and warmth he'd never known before.

Many firsts with his Christine.

Perhaps revealing his face wasn't such a bad idea after all.

She sighed contentedly and tightened her hold on him.

Kissing him _was_ much nicer without the mask.

His skin felt cool beneath her lips and the texture _was_ different...it was soft, but felt papery thin, the underlying bone structure was sharp and jutting, but she knew it was something she would adjust to.

Humans, if nothing else, were very adaptable.

He finally pulled away and she settled beside him, her head once again on his shoulder, and one hand resting lightly on his chest.

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"Forty-five minutes, seventeen seconds and... counting."

"Erik...is that an educated guess, or are you showing off?"

She could hear the amusement in his voice when he replied.

"Bonne nuit, ma belle."

He shifted his weight slightly, easing his bad leg and at last they both quieted, drifting off to sleep in each others' arms.


	28. Chapter 28

Erik slowly regained his strength and with the doctor's expertise his leg healed nicely.

Christine was happy caring for him, and except for his irritability at being inactive, he was content to let her.

It was another new experience for him.

He had only ever had himself to depend on. Having someone fussing over _his_ welfare was pleasant to a certain extent, but she had a tendency to hover over him, and for a man not used to that, he would occasionally have to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at her.

His very nature made him an _impatient_ patient and with anyone else, he would have been too intractable, but because it was Christine, he willingly submitted to her care.

One month blurred into another and before long November was nearly done.

She was happier than she'd been in months; Erik...for the first time ever.

At home Mama had hired some help with the house, replacing Christine for the time being. They kept in touch over the phone once a week, and although she would have moments of guilt about her absence, she wouldn't have done it any other way.

Lillian had taken on someone else at Timeless Treasures. She didn't blame her...two weeks had turned into two months very quickly. Soon, it would be time to leave here...she couldn't stay away from home much longer...Erik was nearly well again, steadily regaining the weight he'd lost.

She hadn't expected to be gone this long, but there had been no help for it. She would never have left him to fend for himself.

Her relationship with him had only deepened.

They spent hours talking about anything and everything. She watched the animation on his face and wondered now, how she could ever have feared it.

She had gradually become used to his face, but it didn't happen overnight.

They had been in the music room one evening, not long after he had finally felt well enough to spend some time at the piano.

Christine had been reading, while Erik worked on a new musical piece; this one would be for the piano _and_ violin.

He was scribbling left handed on a sheet of composition paper while he hummed softly.

She happened to glance up at him and had caught the frown while he worked on the time signature.

She watched the emotional display that was evident now, the wrinkling of his forehead and the look of concentration, putting fine lines at the corners of his eyes...the by-play of facial muscles. All hidden from her before.

She no longer had to try and guess from eyes and body language alone.

To her his face was unique, but no longer disturbing.

Erik had not been so easy to convince.

The morning after she had first slept with him, she had awakened to the mask once again. He was only comfortable for so long without it and he'd been defensive about its presence on his face.

She had firmly, but gently coaxed him into leaving the mask off and at first he'd been stubborn.

He would remove it at her insistence, but it would eventually end up back in place.

How to convince him she _wanted_ to see his face?

When she asked him to eat his meals without it, he'd refused.

Christine had said nothing to that, but continued eating her breakfast quietly, saying very little.

Erik was a smart man. He realized she was only thinking of his comfort, but a few hours of his beastly face was one thing...to have it in front of her while she ate was something entirely different.

So he'd reached across the table and taken her small hand in his.

"Do not be upset with me, ma petite bijou. I only mean to spare you."

She squeezed his hand, then took a sip of her coffee. "I understand. I shouldn't have expected you to feel comfortable with me, Erik. It was my mistake...forget it."

He looked at her in puzzlement. "But...I do feel comfortable with you. How can you think otherwise?"

She smiled at him and rose to clear the table.

"Apparently not."

He narrowed his eyes at that, dumbfounded that she _wanted_ to see his monstrous face.

He sat there, for once at a loss for words, then he too got up to help with the breakfast dishes.

She shooed him out of the kitchen and cleaned up by herself, then decided to take a walk.

She went looking for Erik and found the music room door closed. She tapped on it and waited.

He finally opened the door, and stood there looking down at her silently, amber eyes glittering.

"I'm...I'm going for a walk. Want to come with me?"

She was taken aback at his stiff posture in the doorway and his next words confirmed his present mood.

"Would you _insist_ that I accompany you _minus_ my mask_?_ Perhaps frighten a few children along the way?" he snapped.

His words and icy tone bothered her, but she stood her ground.

"Nope. Just wanted to know if you wanted to come along."

She looked at him with disappointment. "But...well, I'll take that as a no."

She turned her back on him and prepared to leave.

"Christine...wait!"

She heard the note of panic in his voice and stopped.

"It is just for a walk, yes? You _are_ coming back to your Erik?"

His mood had swung very quickly from anger to pathos...it was dizzying.

But her eyes had softened and she said quietly. "Of course I'm coming back. Who would be here to make sure you eat? You can come too, you know...with your mask.

"Um...you do understand that I wasn't trying to hurt you, right? I just wanted you to be comfortable in your own home...around me."

He shook his head and sighed. "I know you mean well...try to understand..." he pleaded. "It has been a part of me since I was old enough to walk. It is hard for me to bare my face to another...most especially you."

Erik stood in front of her, head down and refusing to meet her eyes.

She walked slowly over to him and took his hand, swinging it lightly. "Hey...it's okay...really. If you don't want to remove it, then don't."

She felt sad for him and didn't really know how she could fix the situation, except to just give him time to trust her more. Eventually he would come to believe that she could accept his face exactly the way God had made it.

He still wouldn't look at her...she reached up on her toes and kissed the cheek of his mask. "I'm fine with it..._we're_ fine. I'll be back in a little while, 'kay?"

He nodded his head and heard her leaving; he could only stand there in the doorway with no idea of what he wanted to do now. So he sat down at the piano and started to work.

Thirty minutes later, he was surrounded by balled up sheets of paper littering the floor, and his thoughts scattered and dismal.

He stood up and began pacing, wanting to go after her, but indecision stopped him.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. _She_ had requested something very straightforward. Simply remove the mask and all would be well.

He snorted. If it was only that easy. His face had been covered since the time he was a small child. His Christine meant well he was sure, but covering his hideousness had also been his protection.

Sometimes there had been those who took offense at his ugliness, and wanted nothing more than to thrash him for it, as if it was something _he_ was responsible for.

Even his own mother.

Beatings from anyone however, were a thing of the past, but habit had become ingrained and the mask was in effect, his shield.

The big question for Erik. How long before Christine decided he was too monstrous for even her and left him?

And what if he refused to uncover his face? Would she accuse him of no faith in her?

He continued his pacing...miserably unsure of his next move. Finally he went over to the piano and sat down.

When Christine returned, she could hear the music from beyond the closed door, and if the solemn sound of it was any indication, he was still troubled.

He heard her returning and let out a heartfelt sigh of relief.

She was in the kitchen for a good part of the afternoon, planning their dinner and preparing it. Fixing meals together had been for the both of them, some of the most pleasant moments they'd ever had. He was eating more now. His appetite would never amount to much, but compared to what he _had_ been eating, he was a veritable foodie.

Usually he would spend equal amounts of time with her _and_ the piano, but that afternoon, he remained in the music room.

Hopefully while he sulked, he would come to the conclusion...that if Christine loved him, she would also at some point have to love his face.

And so for the rest of that day, he had played every sad and melancholy piece of music in his extensive repertoire.

For lunch, she fixed him a ham and cheese sandwich and a cup of tea, taking it to the music room. She turned the knob and was perplexed to find it locked. She tapped on the door, hearing the heavy chords of a Beethoven piece. "Erik? I've brought you lunch. Please eat something, okay?"

She left it outside his door and when she came back later, it was still there untouched.

"Erik? She tapped on the door again. It was quiet...almost too quiet...the piano was silent.

"I'm fine, Christine. I'm not hungry." His voice was flat with very little inflection in it.

She put her hand on the door, very tempted to ask him to let her in, then thought better of it.

With a sigh she said, "All right. I'll be in the kitchen."

She was relieved to speak with him, but she would rather he hadn't barricaded himself behind a locked door. She had for the most part, left him to his own company, knowing it was his way of thinking something through, but the bleakness of the music made her want to go to him and prove once again how much he was adored.

At six, she called him to the evening meal, holding her breath that he would actually join her. When he finally did sit down at the table she looked up...at his unmasked face.

She watched as he quirked an eyebrow at her. And rising, she went to him and sat down in his lap. She took his face in her hands, her thumbs lightly caressing each side of his mouth.

He had begun to watch her warily, but when she gently touched his face, his eyes closed and he sighed deeply. She put her mouth on his, her tongue darting out and sliding along the seam of his closed lips.

His arms wrapped tightly around her, his tongue meeting hers in a luscious dance.

"I love you so much." he moaned.

She nuzzled his ear and whispered softly into it, making him shiver. "I love you too, my Erik."

Dinner that night was divine.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

As his health returned to normal, his thoughts of Christine became those which any healthy man in love would have.

Sleeping in the same bed now was out of the question, for actual sleep was not the activity he had in mind.

Christine though, was in his bedroom to stay, therefore his nightly torture continued, until he began making excuses to stay away until she fell asleep.

Much later he would creep into the room Phantom-style and lay awake until nearly dawn, thinking his lascivious thoughts and watching her sleep.

They were often in the music room, Erik teaching her some fundamentals of singing, many of which she was already aware, others aiding her voice into a stronger, truer instrument.

He enjoyed playing for her. She would come up behind him while he sat at the grand, and looping her arms around his neck, she would lean her head on his while he played. Often, he began singing and she would invariably join in. Singing together was pure pleasure for both of them.

She had brought his violin with her to Paris and she spent afternoons and evenings charmed by the magic he produced from its strings.

One evening she sat in the music room, watching and listening to him as he played Bach's Air on the G String, enchanted as always at the beauty he coaxed from the instrument.

His graceful stance and long legs, the slight sway of his body to the flowing melody...the fluidity of bow to string in his very capable hands, made her blood run hot.

She wanted him.

The piece over, Erik lowered the instrument to his side.

"Come here." she said softly, and held her hand out to him.

He laid the violin in its case and moving as if in a dream, he went and knelt in front of her.

Christine took his hands in hers and slowly kissed the tip of each one of his fingers, then put her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

"That was so beautiful." she whispered.

Her mouth sought his and with a moan, she moved her lips over his greedily, sliding her hands up to his face.

Erik kissed her back hungrily, answering her passion with his own, fueled by his need for her...his love.

His arms were tight around her, his hands moving up and down her back, his mouth finally breaking from hers to plant kisses on her throat, followed by his tongue. His left hand started a pathway down the column of her throat and hovered indecisively near her breasts, finally alighting on one with a shy and delicate touch.

They both gasped at the same time; Christine leaned into his hand and pulled his head back to hers. He gently felt the softness in his grasp, his heart beginning to gallop in his chest, his eager lips locked on hers, his tongue exploring the warm, moist interior of her sweet mouth.

Her hand was working its way down his chest, stroking and feeling its way across his flat stomach and stopped at his belt. Her thumb hooked inside the waistband of his pants and his breath hitched as he groaned.

Her hand dipped down to the small of his back, kneading the tight muscles there, feeling the knobs of his spine, then as she gained confidence, her fingers started moving around to the front again, caressing his belly and continuing downwards.

They were both trembling by now, a mantle of lust enveloping them in its warm folds.

The ringing of the phone gradually broke through the haze of need surrounding them. Christine knew it was a call from Mama; she'd been expecting it, and after placing a last kiss on his mouth, she reluctantly started to leave his embrace.

"Let it go." he said hoarsely, trying to pull her back into his arms.

She shook her head regretfully, still aroused from his touch. "I...I can't. It's Mama."

She got shakily to her feet and walking over to the desk, picked up the phone.

"Putain de merde!" he said, disgusted at the damned woman's timing. He slumped down against the chair, mourning the lost opportunity, feeling slightly sick from the build-up of pleasure and the cold letdown.

_She_ was killing him by slow degrees.

Other evenings would find them sitting together on the couch in front of the fireplace. The nights had grown chilly, the fire felt good and he was finding it harder to stop at just kisses.

He wanted her so much...was frightened by his desire for her, but he was green when it came to sexual matters and his inexperience made him hesitate.

Mon Dieu! Nearly forty and to be so gauche, when he should be taking the lead. He wouldn't want to run roughshod over her feelings and harm her when his raw passion overruled his head.

And it could very well happen. He was uncomfortably aware of how volatile he could be. His frustration was mounting and he was at a loss to figure out how to proceed without hurting her. With the way he looked, it was monstrous to even _think_ of coupling with her.

And so it continued.

But what amazed and delighted Erik, were Christine's responses to him.

They would both end up breathless and aroused from their bodies pressed tightly against one another, her mouth tender and bruised from his kisses, his body aching from unfulfillment.

When he started having thoughts of simply taking what he wanted, he would gently disengage from her and send her to bed.

He would do nothing to frighten her.

He loved her so...

But soon...kisses would not be enough.


	29. Chapter 29

December came in gray and chilly. Christine had twinges of homesickness now that Christmas was drawing near, but for the most part she was more than content with Erik under the opera house.

Paris was becoming festive amid the lights and exquisite decorations of a Joyeux Noel.

She decided one morning to do a little Christmas shopping for her friends and family in Gettysburg. It had been a week since she'd been out of Erik's house and she was looking forward to a few hours above ground.

Walking was preferable to her...she needed the exercise and fresh air. He had insisted on accompanying her, but she could tell he wanted to get some work done at the piano instead. Kissing him goodbye, she started for the door.

Before she made it, the phone rang. It was Bernard letting Erik know that the papers he needed to sign were still at his house. He was tied up in court and would be late bringing them by.

Erik in his usual imperious manner with the solicitor, wanted them much sooner, so Christine offered to stop by his house and bring them home with her.

The lawyer didn't live far from the opera house; it wasn't a great distance for her to walk. On a previous excursion above, Erik had pointed out where he lived. She had been curious about Montmartre and the street of the martyrs and he'd taken her there. She had loved all the quaint shops and the artistic flair of the area. The rue des Martyrs went straight uphill to the stunning Sacre Coeur basilica. There were also bakeries she wanted to investigate before returning to the house on the lake.

She loved Paris...walking its streets was no hardship for her and she had a pleasant time Christmas shopping.

She'd even found the perfect gift for Erik. In a cluttered little music shop she found a mandolin for sale. It was used, but had been beautifully kept. The wood body had a sunburst design, its rich sheen presently dulled by a thin layer of dust. The shopkeeper proudly revealed to her that the instrument was solid spruce.

Erik had a number of musical instruments that he'd played for her. His expertise was the piano and violin, but he was proficient on many others as well. The mandolin was an instrument she reckoned he'd enjoy, and she couldn't wait for his reaction Christmas morning.

She hoped to make their first holiday together one they'd never forget.

The shopkeeper had given her a good price, and after leaving the store, she set off for the nearest bakery, intent on getting a fresh baguette and some pastries in hopes of tempting his appetite.

The afternoon had been pleasant, but Christine was more than ready to get home, so she headed for Bernard's house. She clutched the paper with his address in the rue des Martyrs, where she'd just spent some time exploring the quaint shops.

The weather was still holding, but she didn't care much for the clouds starting to build, the deepening chill causing her to pull her coat tighter.

She found the house number she was looking for, and walked up to the front door of the well-kept two story home in the busy neighborhood.

She rang the bell waiting patiently, holding her parcels close.

She finally heard footsteps approaching the door, and when it opened, an attractive dark-haired woman stood there looking at her suspiciously.

"Oui, Mademoiselle?" she said, looking her up and down.

"Bonjour, Madame Prideux. My name is Christine Daae...I'm staying with Monsieur Reauchard and I'm here to collect some papers he needs. Your husband said you would know which ones."

The suspicious look was replaced with one of contempt. "Oui. Bern told me you would be around for them."

She gestured Christine inside and left her standing in the hall while she went to fetch the papers. When she returned, she thrust a manilla envelope at her.

"Thank goodness you are the one that came for these." She grimaced, then shook her head. "That...man is not welcome here. My husband earns every franc he is paid, and I see no need for Erik Reauchard to come here and scare the children and me."

Madame Prideux didn't notice when Christine's eyes began to take on an angry glint.

"He shouldn't be going about during the day frightening people. I keep my children well away from him."

She dropped her voice. "I suggest Mademoiselle, that you do the same and distance yourself. His past like his appearance is unsavory."

Christine had heard enough. "What has he ever done to you, Madame?" she protested. "Why do you dislike him so much?"

Celine merely stared at the young woman, wanting her out of her home.

Christine drew herself up and squared her shoulders.

"I wonder what your husband would say if he could hear you now? He does _work _for Erik, you know."

She stood facing Celine Prideux, her hands curled into fists.

The Frenchwoman had about four inches and thirty pounds on her, but Christine had righteous anger spurring her on.

Celine for the life of her couldn't understand anyone, let alone this young woman, feeling the need to defend Reauchard. She looked warily at the young American.

"Mademoiselle...if I may be bold. What is he to you?"

Christine looked the older woman in the eye and said quietly. "We love each other, Madame. And I won't stand here and listen to you make him into some kind of _monster_."

Her voice had risen, but two of the Prideux children had shown up in the hall, staring wide-eyed at her and she softened her tone. "Thank you for your time, Madame Prideux."

Celine stood gaping at the young woman, a curious child on each side of her. She hadn't liked Erik Reauchard from the moment she first met him. His tall, looming presence... the feeling of menace which emanated from him, and the cold stare from those strange eyes had always disturbed her.

His face well hidden behind a black mask didn't encourage friendliness.

But his _voice_ was something else entirely.

It made her shiver, whether from fright or... pleasure, she would never allow herself to consider. And now this distasteful American woman was arguing in Reauchard's favor.

And _that_ was shocking in itself. A pretty young woman in love with a disfigured murderer. She had been able over the years to piece together what kind of man Reauchard was...her husband said very little, but Celine knew he was not a decent man by any means. She'd felt a moment of disquiet when the Daae woman mentioned love and the masked man in the same breath. She had surprised herself by trying to warn the young woman away; she usually felt no compunction to advise others of folly. She sometimes thought Bern should find another client, but stopped short of saying anything. Reauchard might be a killer...

But he paid well.

She wondered if the young mademoiselle had seen behind the mask.

Disfigured without a doubt...she had no clue as to what was hidden from view. Bern knew, she was sure, but out of misplaced loyalty he wouldn't tell her. Whatever it was, handsome it was not.

But the mademoiselle was correct. Her husband worked for Reauchard and he did pay Bern a very generous wage. Perhaps she'd been too hasty with her words-Bernard would not be pleased if he found out.

But before she could say anything more, the woman turned and went out the front door and started down the walk.

Christine's eyes had softened looking at the children, and with one last cold glance at their mother, she had turned and left the house, pulling her collar up against the cold drizzle that had started falling from a pewter sky.

She had been angry at Madame Prideux's contempt for Erik. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.

She realized his personality was a little lacking and he _could_ be threatening to someone not used to him. But he was so very tender with her. She snorted. Oh yeah, Christine. Make him into some kind of cuddly teddy bear, why don't you? He _was _a paid assassin...hardly teddy bear material.

But it angered her when someone chose to think of him as less than human... she felt the need to defend him, even though he was more than capable of doing it himself. Had been long before she came along.

All the same... he would never have to fight his battles alone anymore.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

He sat at the piano trying to get some work done. After months of no interest in music, he was once again hearing the melody in his head and wanted to get it on paper.

He'd been working on a surprise for Christine and with a little more work, it would be ready for him to present to her at Christmas. He could only play it while she was absent from the house which wasn't often. He should be taking advantage of her absence now, but found his attention wandering.

In addition to the surprise he was working on was a legato melody, well suited to Christine's voice, but he found it hard to concentrate. He was used to having her near when he was at the piano, but now he was restless and easily distracted with her gone.

After an hour of very little actual work, he sighed and getting to his feet, put his mask in place and went for his overcoat and hat. Some fresh air and a stretching of the legs would be a good idea. He settled the hat low over his eyes, then grabbed his coat and pulled the door shut.

He walked up the passage leading to the rue Scribe, thankful that his leg had finally healed and decided to head in the general direction of Montmartre.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Christine walked to the end of the street, stopping to shift her packages again, her teeth starting to chatter from the drizzly rain. She squinted down the street seeing a tall figure walking in long strides toward her.

She was so pleased to see him, she picked up her pace until he was close enough to reach out for her and pull her into his arms, bags and all. Feeling her trembling, he shrugged out of his overcoat and wrapped it snugly around her despite her protests.

"This has got to stop! I seem to wear your coats more than _you_ do. And it's way too long for me, Erik." she said laughing.

He took some of the bags from her, amused when she wouldn't give up one in particular. They walked the rest of the way back to the Avenue de l'Opera mostly in a contented silence, Christine's arm tucked away in his. She squeezed his arm tighter and looked sideways at him.

She felt the warmth of desire for him once again, as she did more and more often of late. She wanted more than just kisses now, and she could tell that he felt the same. She shivered with a little fear and a lot of anticipation, wondering what it would be like with him.

They entered the gate and he turned and locked it.

When Erik swung back around, he looked into her eyes seeing his own hunger reflected there. He stepped closer to her, his eyes glowing in the dim light of the cellar, his breath already coming lighter and faster.

He framed her face with his hands, his cool mouth descending on hers in a bruising kiss, which she returned just as eagerly. Her arms went up and around his neck, one hand sliding under the back of his shirt collar stroking with light, feathery touches, forcing a groan from him.

He pressed himself to her, running his hands down her sides where they settled on her bottom, pulling her up tight against him. She shivered, heat building in her lower belly and ran her tongue along his lip.

Erik's heart was pounding wildly. "Christine..." he whispered.

With one last hard kiss, he broke away and picking up the parcels, he grabbed her hand, and started walking quickly down the passage to the house on the lake.

Holding tightly to his fingers, she struggled to keep up with his longer strides. Once inside his house, he turned to her in the foyer, eager for her mouth again and the hope of much more.

But she was wet and chilled. Gritting his teeth and tamping down his impatience, he gently pushed her toward the bedroom and a hot bath.

Christine hid the mandolin under the bed and headed for the bathroom. Soaking in the tub, she contemplated her argument with Bernard's wife. She thought of speaking to him about her dislike for Erik, but decided against it.

For now, she had no wish to think of that woman.

She had the seduction of a certain Frenchman in mind.

She loved him. She wanted to take the next logical step with him...the first time she had _ever _wanted to give herself to a man. But they seemed to be at an impasse. He wanted her-she knew he did, but he was becoming adept at backing away at the last moment.

Well...no more, dear heart.

With a curious mixture of nerves and confidence, she rose from the tub and toweled herself dry, then slipped into her white nightgown and belted a robe around her slim waist, feeling warm at last. She dabbed rose scent on her pulse points and between her breasts.

She brushed her hair until it shone...and went looking for Erik.

She found him sitting in his leather wing chair in front of a warm fire, a pot of tea and two cups sitting on the glass coffee table. She by-passed the tea and went right for his lap.

He put his arms around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. His grip tightened on her as she reached up and untied his mask, setting it on the nearby end table. She followed the movement with her hand, caressing his poor face and then kissing his cheeks, forehead and lips, feeling the excitement building...already knowing how this night would end.

Christine loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his black shirt, reveling in the sharp intake of his breath, knowing she was enticing him and not caring. She placed warm kisses on his bared chest and felt a shudder go through him.

"You're wet, my love." she purred, and smoothed the damp hair at his nape. "You need to get out of these clothes right away."

Erik growled and lowered his mouth to hers, threading his hand through her soft hair, pressing her ever closer to his body, his need slowly driving him mad.

In one fluid motion, he stood with her in his arms, never breaking their kiss and started for his bedroom. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him feverishly. He put her down gently on the mattress, removing his suit coat and tossing it on the chair. He sat on the edge of the bed, quickly removing his shoes, then stopped...

Suddenly unsure of himself.

He sat there staring at the shoe he still held in one shaking hand.

Christine reached up and ran her hand up his thin arm, grasping it gently. "What's wrong?"

He hung his head and sighed deeply. "I have a confession to make...it pains me to say it..." He paused and finally looked at her, his eyes bright and full of shame.

"I have no experience in this. I don't want to hurt you. I... I only wish to please you."

She watched as he reddened, the blush sitting oddly on the blasted landscape of his face. She loved him so very much in that moment. He would always try, she felt sure, to put her needs before his own.

Her hands trembling only a little, she reached for Erik and pulled him down into her arms.

"Then we'll learn together." she whispered.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

She would look back on that first time with him as the turning point in their relationship. Up until that moment before he had entered her, she'd thought that her love for him could not become greater.

She had been wrong.

Their first union had been short in duration-awkward, painful...wonderful.

It had also sealed her bond to him. It had occurred to her on occasion while she dated throughout high school and college, that having sex with a guy she liked wouldn't have been so bad. Even Raoul, whom she dated more than anyone else, maybe expected it of her, but she'd always hesitated. Though she had come close once or twice, she could never go through with it and tonight she realized why.

She would have been cheating herself. _This_ night was what she had waited for.

They had been hesitant at first... nearly timid, but passion has a way of sweeping its participants along in a heady rush and it was no different for them.

They had explored each other's bodies bringing sharp pleasure, that had left them trembling and spent.

Christine felt the old scarring on his back and chest-had explored the ridges with tender fingers, and resolved to heal him with her touch until the hurtful memories would fade, even if the scars did not.

What had caused the scars, she refused to dwell on, only wanting to give him all the love of which she was capable.

When they'd finished, Erik thanked her again and again, until she reached up and placed her hand over his mouth.

"Shhh... I fully intend to get just as much out of this as you do. I _love_ you."

She replaced her hand with her lips, then settled her head on his thin shoulder.

"I love you more than you can ever realize." he whispered.

He gathered her close, loath to let go of her even for a minute. He would remember this night clearly for the rest of his days. His mouth and long fingers had elicited responses from Christine that had been the sweetest music in the world to his ears.

She had given him so much happiness...had made him feel like any other man. At last...to have what other men took for granted. He'd been able to lose himself in her body, her hands working magic on his scarred flesh, until he thought he would die from the incredible feelings she aroused in him.

From the blackness of despair... to the heights of utter joy.

He settled beside her contentedly, his arm around her waist, his face buried in her hair...and slept.


	30. Chapter 30

Christine was awakened in the small hours of early morning by his lips behind her ear and his fingers stroking her bare shoulder.

She turned to him and put her arms around his neck, her mouth seeking his and finding it. She was sleepy and sore from their first lovemaking, but she wouldn't deny him.

Her thoughts swirled down until there was nothing but the pleasure he was giving her. She realized that her world was right there beneath her fingertips and the enjoyment was her sole focus...that and the man above her.

She was his and always would be.

Amid a tangle of limbs and heat-filled kisses, they once again sought the age-old rhythm, their pleasure in each other spiraling ever higher, until their ultimate goal was reached together. Erik, still in a state of bliss, started to remove his weight from Christine, when clutching him tighter she stopped him.

"Mmm...not yet. This feels too good... just like this." she said softly in his ear.

He could only agree with her. He would never be able to get as close as he wished; he nuzzled his unmasked face into her hair, breathing deeply of her sweet scent.

Old souls.

That's what they were, she thought drowsily. She'd felt a connection with him nearly from the beginning.

When she was eleven, her dad had encouraged her to visit a shut-in neighbor...Araminta Douglas, who was eighty-nine and sharp as a tack for her age...

And made the best sugar cookies.

One afternoon, she sat at the kitchen table with a cookie and glass of milk after school, swinging her legs and listening to the elderly woman. As she did on most visits, she listened as Min talked about her husband.

"I'll be seeing Artie one of these days, child. It's only a matter of time now."

Arthur had been Araminta's husband of sixty years, until death had finally parted them. The old lady nodded wisely, and with her hand, whisked cookie crumbs off the table and onto the floor. Her fat tabby cat trotted over and proceeded to lick them up.

"Do you mean Heaven?" she'd asked.

Min shook her head. "I mean on this earth." she said firmly. "We'll meet somewhere down the road...different bodies, Christine...same souls."

She stopped chewing and looked at Min with disbelieving eyes.

"You're talking about reincarnation. I read a book once about a woman who claimed to have past lives. Right?"

"Some call it that, yes."

Christine looked thoughtfully at the old lady. "But if you both _look_ different, how will you know it's him?"

Araminta reached over and caressed the young girl's cheek. "I'll just know." she said softly.

She wondered now if it _was_ possible? Why had she felt so drawn to Erik? Could they have been subconsciously aware of each other from their first meeting?

Soulmates...

She burrowed her face into his neck and snorted at something so ridiculous. Still...maybe someday she would share that particular thought with him. Sleepy and content, she closed her eyes.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Christmas was nearly upon them. They had driven into the French countryside outside Paris, and bought a fir tree to place and decorate in Erik's living room. Christine hung swags of pine on the mantle, and an immense bright red poinsettia plant had the place of honor on the hall table in the foyer.

He had joined her in the fundamentals of a merry Christmas to please her, but except for _his_ joy at _her_ enthusiasm he felt nothing. He had never celebrated the holidays. He had always been alone; taking part in the holy celebration was only for her sake.

She had wrapped her presents to him in pretty silver and gold foil paper and placed them under the tree, all sporting bright red ribbon. A few days later she had spied him crouched near the tree, gently shaking one of the packages. As she watched him, he ran a long finger across a tag bearing his name.

She grinned, resolved to do some more shopping before Christmas.

Soon she noticed a small mountain of gifts under the tree for her, and could only smile and shake her head.

Erik was happy for the first time in his life. Christine was with him and professed to love him, spending every night in his arms. He knew that he didn't deserve _any_ happiness, and now that he had something to lose, he was terrified that fate would step in and snatch it away from him.

That's when the nightmares started.

The first night he'd had one, he'd been able to stop the scream before it left his mouth. He had awakened from the grip of the dream abruptly, shaking and frightened. In his nightmare, Behzadi had succeeded in his ploy to trap him, taking Christine as well.

It had felt so distressingly real, that he'd been horrified. They had used her against him trying to break his will, beating her bloody and taking her viciously in front of him. He had been helpless...had been unable to go to her, and he had screamed...and screamed. Behzadi found Christine's terror and Erik's screams of horror highly amusing. His agony had morphed into an impotent rage with no outlet, and as the dream progressed, he would end up on his knees pleading for her life. He would awake and in a panic, turn to find Christine curled up sleeping peacefully beside him, and could barely stop himself from gathering her tightly into his arms and weeping in relief.

Every night it had been variations of the same awful nightmare, the only thing in common being his dream self's inability to help her. It had got to the point where he was afraid to close his eyes and sleep. He didn't require as much rest as she did, but he enjoyed holding her for much of the night, and would eventually doze off toward morning.

One night just before Christmas, she was awakened by Erik crying out in the middle of the night. Frightened, she found him sitting on the edge of the bed bent over, his head clutched in his hands. She crawled across the mattress toward him and placed her hand on his back.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, stroking him.

He raised his head and let out a shuddery breath. "A nightmare...", then sighing he added quietly, "one of many, I'm afraid."

She could see how disturbed he was. She rose to her knees and put her arms around him, pressing herself to his back. "Want to talk about it?"

He was about to say no, then hesitated. Christine had asked questions about his past, which he had for the most part ignored. At times regrettably, he'd been curt to the point of anger, not wishing to bare his warped life and watch her back away in horror.

He was very reluctant to have her see the _real_ creature she was in love with, afraid she would be so disgusted, she would leave him for good.

_That _thought terrified him more than any other.

But perhaps telling her his history would be cathartic for him, and silence the inner demons trying to rob him of his happiness. Maybe it would be a relief for her to know all of his sordid past and not have to keep hiding it from her.

He sighed again and rubbed his cheek against her hand. "Yes."

He led her out to the living room and sat her down in a wing chair. She looked at the beautiful tree in the corner of the room, the floor surrounding it colorful with a rainbow of assorted wrapped gifts, a little nervous now at Erik's grim countenance.

He left the room briefly and returned with two snifters of brandy and handed her one. He sat down in his chair and took a sip of his drink, gathering his courage. Not looking at her, he began to talk about his sorry life.

His mother's repugnance of him, her neglect and abuse; his subsequent escape from his home in Rouen on the Normandy coast.

"I was simply a burden to her, Christine. A monstrous and embarrassing mistake."

He took a long swallow of brandy and looked into the smoldering embers of the fire.

"She schooled me at home. There were many books, most of them my father's...he was an architect...a damned good one. He died when a support beam fell on him at a building site. I only knew him through his books and I lost myself in them...that, and my music lessons. I eventually surpassed my teacher though, and before too long, the lessons were finished and it was just my mother and me."

Erik rose abruptly and put more logs on the fire, moving them around until they caught.

"She hit me...quite regularly I might add, until I was nearly as tall as she was, then I threatened to hit her back." He smiled coldly. "She desisted after that."

"Why did she beat you so much?"

"Because I existed. It's as simple as that."

"I can't understand how she could have been so cruel to her only child."

He could see Christine's sorrowful expression and his eyes softened.

"Because my mother was a beautiful woman and her only son is as ugly as sin."

He looked at his hands and sighed. "One night I'd sneaked from the house to play the church organ where my mother attended services on Sundays...alone, I might add. I was her dirty little secret. The parish priest found me and returned me to my mother, where he informed her of my considerable talent on said organ... and my ungodly ways. He alone knew of my existence, but I think there was already talk of the monster living in Rouen."

He stopped speaking at Christine's exclamation and looked at her wearily.

"But it's the truth. You l-love me," he looked at her with wonder in his eyes, hardly believing what he was saying, "but to everyone else, that is_ exactly_ how they view me."

"My mother waited until Father Berthold left the house before turning her ire on me. Once her arm was too tired to hit me anymore, she locked me in my room...which I was able to escape whenever I chose to. That was the first time she beat me...more soon followed. But the day finally arrived when I could stand it no longer. I left late one night and never looked back.

"I was twelve years old."

She looked at him with sadness, "Wasn't there _anyone_ who was kind to you then?"

He crossed to her side and bending over, kissed her, then sat back down in his chair. He looked thoughtfully at her. "As a matter of fact, there was. I had nearly forgotten.

"A neighbor woman who found out about me one evening, when I slipped out of my mother's house. I was eleven, I believe. Madame Talonne was her name; she was elderly and lived alone. She knew my mother only from seeing her on the street, never realizing she had a son hidden away.

"And yes, she _was_ kind to me, although the mask startled her at first. She found me playing with her little dog in the garden that night and instead of chasing me off, she engaged me in conversation."

Erik smiled crookedly and sighed. "She even fed me bread and jam, claiming I looked hungry to her."

He ran a thin hand through his hair. "I _was_ hungry, but not for food. I wanted affection...someone to look at me without revulsion. I think I was starved for it.

"I returned many times that year. It was always at night and _never_ with my mother's knowledge. I think the good madame realized then what my mother was about."

"What did you do on your visits?"

"Mostly talked, or I played with the dog. I would give impromptu concerts on the old upright piano in her parlor. She enjoyed listening."

He became restless and got up from his chair.

"She moved away the following spring and I was alone again. That was when I decided to leave Rouen myself."

He told her of his life on the streets of Paris. And because of his face, how he was shunned by even the dregs of society... the thieves, prostitutes and drug-riddled addicts. As he talked, he kept his face averted...afraid to see the disgust and condemnation in her eyes.

He omitted quite a bit, knowing deep in his gut she wouldn't be able to handle too many of the sordid details, but gave her the bare bones only of his history. He told her about the day he'd been caught stealing from one of the drug dealers, and beaten to within an inch of his life with a length of stout electrical cord.

"I needed money to live and in the illegal drug trade, there was money to eat well. I used drugs only once; the end result was unpleasant...dulling my thought processes which I needed to stay alive; it amounted to putting a thief in my body to steal my wits...and that is how they caught me in the first place. I made sure to never repeat _that_ mistake again."

Christine was crying silently, feeling the pain he was reliving, while Erik remained dry eyed, speaking in a detached manner as if he was talking about someone else.

"Is...is that how you got the scars on your back and chest?" she asked him, voice thick with tears.

He simply nodded his head, still refusing to look at her and continued.

"One evening when I was about fourteen, I watched the well dressed mesdames et messieurs arriving for a night of opera. I was dirty and living in a back alley, but I only envied them their right to sit in the Garnier and enjoy a performance of Gounod."

His eyes were flat, the yellow irises blank-gazing inward seeing a rejected, unloved boy, with no one in the world to care whether he lived or died.

"I found the rue Scribe entrance to the cellars by accident one night and picked the rusty lock on the door, taking up residence here. Of course, it most certainly did not resemble a home then."

He swept his thin arm around his luxuriant home and smiled faintly.

"I had a _very _large roof over my head, rats for company and I could listen to opera for free. I tell you, Christine...I was in Heaven! Eventually though...well, I became restless. I finally left Paris and traveled around to the fairs, performing magic and singing literally for my supper. The daroga found me in Russia and took me to Iran, where the shah was fascinated by my unique," Erik sneered, "looks, and decided that with training, I could be a true killer-an assassin with the face of death."

Again, he gave her a smile with very little humor. "It was an added benefit to horrify and shock before I murdered them, you see."

Christine hastily swiped her hand across her wet cheeks and reached for him, but he got up from the chair and with his drink in hand, walked over to the fireplace and stood with his back to her.

He took one last swallow and turned to face her.

"I lost count of how many I killed. I made a name for myself...I was the Phantom...a killer with no conscience. I came back to Paris after ten years and moved back into the opera house...I felt safer underground, but I made sure my home reflected my new wealth much better, n'est-ce pas?

"Blood money...how very apt, yes?"

He sat back down and rubbed his face tiredly. "I worked throughout the nights on my home for years, perfecting what you see now. I began _haunting_ the Garnier for my own amusement and leaving small notes around the house, mostly to improve the performances. My first success was getting them to replace the concertmaster at that time, and hire one who _breathed_ the music instead of just playing it.

"On occasion I would scare whoever I came across, simply for the fun of it. I even had the practice piano rigged to play music...without a player. That was quite amusing." He chuckled then, the first sincere show of amusement she'd seen since he started talking.

He laughed hollowly. "How frightened they all were of the almighty opera ghost."

"I suppose you scared them so well, the cleaning crew refused to work nights." she said accusingly.

His eyes widened at that. "Why yes...how did you know?"

"Gossip from one of the ushers."

"Ah."

"How did you keep from being discovered?" she asked him puzzled.

He shrugged in his elegant way. "This place is immense. The question would be more likely...how _could_ I be found out in such a massive building?"

He leaned back in his chair.

"Andre Moncharmin was manager of the Garnier by then. He was a deplorable manager, but through threats and a mutually beneficial arrangement, we got along tolerably well."

Christine smiled at him for the first time since he'd begun. "Ha. It probably helped that he was afraid of you, right?"

Erik opened his mouth to reply, then shut it.

"With Moncharmin dead, there is a new manager of the Garnier now, of whom I have not had the pleasure of speaking with as yet. However, it may be time to find another place to hang my hat."

"Why? This has been your home for years."

He shrugged. "Greed drove Andre...paying him for information _and_ for his blind eye to my presence, made my life here a better arrangement. The new manager might be a different breed. Aside from that, I have a new home in mind."

"A new home?"

His yellow eyes blazed with a fierce love. _"__You_ are my home, my sweet Christine. Wherever _you_ are...there _I_ will be also."

She dropped her gaze, shaken by the depth of his feelings for her. He continued speaking, pulling her eyes back to his.

"Five years ago, one of my former _employers_ wanted me to remove a business rival of his...Ahmad Behzadi, to be precise."

Erik closed his eyes, not wanting to see her reaction. "Everything was in place, the explosive readied and timed...my quarry's every move was most carefully examined."

His voice became lower, as if he was having trouble forcing the words from his mouth.

"But his wife was in the car. She had the driver collect her at home, and then stop at the theatre for her husband. They were apparently on their way to dinner."

He swallowed hard...she could hear the dry clicking of his throat. Christine handed him her brandy and taking a large mouthful he continued.

"She...she had decided to make dinner reservations at the last minute and surprise him." He looked at her and said quietly. "I regretted very much what happened."

"Nadir said that no matter what your crimes were, you never harmed a woman or child until that moment."

Erik looked at her then, and though his naked face was much more readable, this time it held a closed look...calculating.

And it was making her nervous.

Finally he spoke, turning away from her and sighing deeply. "That would not be correct, I'm afraid. However the daroga was not aware of my first transgression."

Erik had debated in these last few moments whether it was wise to tell her everything, but it had festered for years and if he was cauterizing a wound, it was best to leave nothing behind.

He took a deep breath and began.

"When I was twenty-three, nearly your age now, I became eager to sample-how should I say this...ah yes, the joys of the flesh. I found a fairly decent woman who was willing to lay with me for three times what she charged _normal _men. Well worth the price... I thought."

He sat back down and finished off the last of the brandy.

"She took me to a dirty, dingy room, but in my eagerness I never considered that this type of life was behind me, and I was essentially putting myself right back into it, for an act that had virtually no meaning behind it...a cold, loveless joining of flesh. I...I had removed most of my clothes, but had of course left my mask in place."

He glanced at Christine, marveling how she could be so loving in bed with him, but still retain an air of innocence...she was blushing furiously.

"Forgive me, ma belle. I do not mean to embarrass you. But a moment, s'il te plait."

He broke eye contact, ashamed of what he was telling her, but helpless to stop now. "It was over before it began. In my excitement, I'm afraid I was a bit premature, so to speak. It...was joyless and humiliating...and she laughed at me..."

Erik's voice trailed off and he was silent for a moment remembering his rage.

"I...I slapped her...and she...she grabbed for my mask...I panicked at the thought of exposing my face to her. I hit her again...then everything grayed out. I don't remember very much after that. When I came back to myself, she...she was laying there on the bed unconscious.

"I dressed quickly and ran, never looking back...to this day, I don't know whether she lived or died."

Christine sat there stunned.

"I never sought out another prostitute after that night. I was afraid to repeat the experience...my violent reaction had badly shaken me... but it was also very degrading."

His voice had risen. After all these years, his actions that night still had the power to affect him. He glanced at her finally, the abject look of hurt and misery lining every inch of his face.

"Her look of contempt and...disgust...a whore disgusted with me! As if I was no more than a lowly beast. Merde! It stopped me from seeking out others."

Christine's hand had crept to her mouth, shocked at what he'd just told her. She knew he could be violent...had seen how dangerous he actually was. But he was describing an incident that took place years ago and he was different now.

Wasn't he?


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N There's only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue.**

**Thanks to everyone for taking the time to read and review.**

Erik watched the emotions play over her face and became frightened. He rose quickly and knelt in front of her, taking her small hands in his and kissing them repeatedly.

"Please...Christine, do not hate your poor Erik! That was a long time ago...I _am_ a different man. _You_ have made me a better man!"

He was crying now, deathly afraid she would leave him, the tears running down the abnormally high bones of his cheeks and dripping off of his chin.

He cursed himself for being so blunt and for hurting her sensibilities...she was after all, gently bred. Much different than an ugly ragtag strippling, running wild in the filthy, mean streets of Paris.

He clutched her hands tightly, so tightly in fact, they were beginning to go numb. She felt his tears on the backs of them and felt the tremor in his. She was still disturbed by his confession, but it had been years ago and he was only ever gentle with her.

And it did nothing to change how she felt. She saw her masked man as buried treasure; dig deep beneath the dirt and dross, and with patience and a little faith...there lies the gold. But even after the treasure is brought into the light of day, dirt can still cling to it. Careful and diligent cleaning slowly reveals its wealth once more.

And so it would be with her Erik.

She loved him and always would. He answered some need inside of her...and she for him. She would never be without doubts concerning his brutal past.

But such was life.

She knew this and accepted it. Looking at his bowed head she felt her heart break. To have a proud man like Erik humble himself in front of her; a man of such intelligence, made her want to rage at the world for reducing him to this.

Christine tipped his head up and looked deeply into his golden eyes still awash in tears. She saw so much love and devotion in them. It was then that she had an epiphany.

She held the power in this relationship. He would do anything to keep her, she was certain of it.

"Stand up, my love."

She got him to his feet and fisted her hands in his shirt, shaking him gently. "You _will not_ kneel to me...or anyone else for that matter. Understood?"

He nodded, relaxing slightly, and with a sigh, he bent down closing his arms around her and holding on tight. She raised a hand to his cheek.

"Promise me one thing, Erik. From this day forward..._promise_ me you will never harm another person, _regardless_ of what you_ think_ they've done to deserve it. C-Can you do that? For... me?"

He looked carefully at her. "Yes...yes. You have my word. His eyes gleamed with a hint of steel. But...I will always keep _you_ safe...whatever that entails. That I also promise."

He was hoarse...the tears were still present in his voice, but he was a little calmer. He armed the tears from his face and took a deep breath.

She nodded finally, still watching him closely. "Yeah...I think I can live with that."

She yawned and headed for the couch and plunked herself down on it. Shock at his revelations tonight, had left her feeling weak and shaky.

"I want to hear the rest, but comfortably, so come on over here and keep me warm."

Which was the exact opposite of what really took place. He always felt cold until _her_ body heat warmed _him _up. It was simply another anomaly of his, or what she fondly thought of as his, Erikness.

She curled her legs underneath her on the couch and feeling a vast relief, he walked over and sat down beside her. He grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and draped it around Christine, then leaned back tiredly and closed his eyes.

"I have been all over the world and I've seen much, but none of it compares to the very first time we met. I will do _whatever_ it takes to keep your love."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I never realized there was someone like you. For me.

"Mine." he whispered very softly, eyes glowing.

She took his hand in hers. "I have _every_ intention of spoiling you to death." She kissed his fingers and looked earnestly at him. "For every hurt you've ever suffered...I will make it up to you. _I_ promise."

She put her hand on his nape, combing her fingers through the soft hair there and pulled his head to hers, placing tiny kisses all over his face. He gradually relaxed under her gentle ministrations.

"How can you excite me so one minute and soothe me in the next?" he said quietly. He shook his head.

"Any port in a storm." she whispered against his lips, then pulled back and settled beside him.

He rolled one bleary eye toward her. "Only yours, ma petite."

She leaned against him suddenly feeling exhausted, but needing to hear the rest. "What did you do after Behzadi and his wife were...killed?"

"In effect, nothing. I did accomplish a few constructive projects before I contacted the DGSE."

"Such as?"

"I will show you later today. You may judge for yourself."

Changing the subject, he continued. "I tried to put the Behzadi woman out of my mind, but it became impossible."

"And that's why you joined the DGSE?"

"Oui...that among other things. I knew entirely too much about my former _business associates._ I thought it was time to terminate my special services for them and move on. French Intel had tried to enlist my help before, but this time I contacted them and it worked to our mutual benefit. So much so, that I met you, which I shall always consider a miracle for a _very_ undeserving man."

"Are you still an agent?"

"Non, we have parted company. Amicably, I might add."

He watched her nervously, hoping against hope she would forgive him for everything she'd learned tonight.

"Do you still love me, my Christine?" he asked hopefully.

For an answer, she kissed him firmly on the mouth.

"Very much, my Erik." she whispered.

She smiled tiredly. "I never thought the day we met, that I would someday be sitting in the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera House with you...in a house...by a lake."

He pulled her into the circle of his arms and nuzzled her throat. "Would you like to know how I chose _your_ house, Christine?" he said softly.

"Um...from the internet, I guess."

"Yes...but I already had a place on the Fairfield Rd. chosen...The Brickhouse Inn. It was a little closer to Chagny and also in a quiet area...everything I required. My second choice was your establishment."

"Then why didn't you go with the Brickhouse? Nothing wrong with it, even if they are rivals of ours." she said. "It's a well run inn."

He gave her a very Gallic shrug. "To this day, I do not know the answer to that. I decided at the last minute to call your home and speak with Madame Valerius. Call it a... whim, if you like."

"So what made you change your mind?" She giggled. "Did she promise you breakfast every morning or to do your laundry for free?"

To Christine, the laughter felt good after the painful revelations of the night.

"_You_ made me change my mind. Or I should say, your voice did." he said softly.

"Huh? I first spoke to you the day you arrived, Erik...not before then."

He shook his head. Three days prior to that, I called to speak with Madame Valerius. _You_ answered the phone that day, Christine. I spoke to you for perhaps a minute, if that, but in those sixty seconds, I decided your place would suit my needs better."

He chuckled and Christine was gratified to hear it. "If I recall, you were in a hurry that morning and informed me of that fact in no uncertain terms. You gave the phone to your mother as soon as she came into the room, but my mind was already made up."

She racked her brain trying to remember a very short conversation many months ago. And then it came to her. Her face broke into a grin and she hugged him.

"I _do_ remember! You...you asked me how close we were to Cemetary Ridge! Didn't you? I was in an awful hurry, already ten minutes late for work that morning...Lucy decided to run away from me and I had to chase her, or I would have been at work..." she trailed off, realizing what that meant.

"Why my voice Erik?" She watched his face closely.

He shrugged again. "I don't know for certain, except that it was pleasing to my ear. At the time, it did not seem to matter much; as I said...it was a whim, but it made my decision for me. I am a musician...sound is very important to me, and you have a very lovely voice...but even so, I soon forgot and didn't recall it until I heard you speak again. The night we met."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. "You were very much how I had pictured you, Christine...a face to match your voice."

Her hands had tightened on him. "If Lucy hadn't run away from me that morning, I wouldn't have spoken with you. In all probability, you would have stayed at the Brickhouse.

"We wouldn't have met, would we?" she said in a hushed whisper.

"But we did." he stressed. "Fate is a capricious mistress, is she not? But for a few scant minutes, you would never have known I existed and I..." he stopped when the realization hit him. "I would still be in hell."

"Soulmates." she murmured.

He looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

She hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud.

She glanced at him with shining eyes and shook her blonde head. "Nothing. I'm tired...it's been a long night...but remind me to tell you someday about a wonderful old lady and a conversation I had with her...years ago."

They were quiet for a while, each to their own thoughts, then Christine spoke. "You told me once that you had surgery on your face. How old were you then?"

He flinched at her question and was silent for so long, she didn't think he was going to answer. She had promised Bernard not to reveal the conversation they'd had and she wouldn't, but she wanted Erik's complete trust. For them to have a life together, it was imperative; she realized his treatment at the hands of his surgeons had only reinforced his notion of his own inhumanity. An opinion he wouldn't want her to share.

"Humans are such fragile creatures." he said quietly. "And vain. They worry if their nose is too large or too crooked. They worry that they're not handsome enough or...pretty enough."

He closed his eyes and snorted. "Too common, they think...too _plain_."

He looked at her and sneered. "What I would have given to have their petty concerns."

She ducked her head under his steady regard, knowing _she_ was one of those vain humans. How many times had she looked at herself in the mirror wishing for a prettier face? Or how at sixteen a pimple on her chin could ruin her day? Had she really been so shallow?

"I was twenty-six when I had my first and last surgery.

"I went to a private hospital outside Paris, not very far from Lyon. The surgical team was one of the best in its field of maxillofacial reconstruction, but they had never seen a face like mine. They were...intrigued, to say the least. My surgery ended with an infection...a rather bad one. I was already having second thoughts...it would take years and a fortune to give me anything resembling normalcy, but I had already been aware of that. That was not what caused me to leave that place so quickly."

He grew quiet and then barely above a whisper,"They wanted to study me, Christine. They wanted to learn what made the monster..._tick_"

Her hand came up to his jaw, her thumb stroking his bony chin. She held his gaze. "Never, _ever_ refer to yourself as a monster again...you hear me, Erik? Never again."

He looked at his sweet girl and nodded mutely.

"They wanted my permission to run some tests as a preliminary to their study of me." He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. "I declined of course. I may be a mons...I may be ugly, but I never considered myself an inhabitant of a medical journal complete with garish color photographs."

His fingers tightened on hers. "I...became angry at their insistence for my consent; they tried to restrain me. A male nurse was injured...quite badly I'm afraid."

"Did...did he die?"

He shook his head. "No. He eventually recovered. "I told him to remove his hands from me. He did not. Another male attendant approached at that time with a hypodermic, and I fought them off. They left me alone after that." He shivered a bit. "Bernard came later that day and had me discharged. He threatened a lawsuit for trying to coerce me into something I didn't want to do, and the hospital wanted to avoid the publicity, so it ended there."

"My poor Erik."

They sat together in a companionable silence, the only sounds in the room, the pop and hiss from the fire and the steady ticking of the wooden mantle clock.

"What were the nightmares about?" she asked quietly.

He got up and began pacing around the room, until he finally came to a halt in front of her. He raked his hand through his thin hair, a gesture she had come to know so well.

He sighed. "It is the same dream every night. I have had nightmares before... many times actually, but these are very different."

He paused, not wanting to say anything more, but knowing he had no choice.

"I will not give you any detail." he said firmly, "but they are always about you and the night of the masquerade, only this time Behzadi succeeded in taking us and they were using you to break me."

His voice had taken on a quaver, becoming more agitated.

"I am helpless in my own mind, Christine."

He started pacing again. "I have always been alone, you understand. Music has been my escape...my solace. I could become whatever I wanted to be. In the notes. In the melody. Now, I have you and I am loved for myself. I am...

"...happy." he whispered.

Christine got up from the couch and went to him. She wrapped her arms around his narrow waist and laid her head on his chest.

"Maybe...maybe the dreams are occurring because you are just that. Um... happiness is a strong emotion too. In a way...just as powerful as anger or...or fear. You've never really felt it before except with music. Now that you have...you don't want to lose the source."

"You are very wise, my angel." he kissed the crown of her head, then rested his cheek there.

"Maybe your waking fear is coming out in your dreams. Taking away what you value most."

They stood there holding on to each other tightly, both silent.

"Perhaps you are right." he said at last.

Then he put a long, cool finger under her chin and lifted her head up to meet his gaze. He looked deeply into her sleepy blue eyes.

"Marry me, Christine."

She smiled up at him lovingly.

"Yes."


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N This isn't over yet...just to remind you, there's an epilogue to come.**

Christine woke up grumpy.

She always felt this way when she stayed up too late and slept too long in the morning. Reluctant to open her eyes just yet, she put her hand out searching next to her for Erik, but she was alone.

She sniffed appreciatively, smelling fresh coffee. She sat on the edge of the bed rubbing the sleep from her eyes, then with a huge yawn, got up and dragged herself into the bathroom for a shower. No more late night confessions for a while, she thought tiredly, dressing in a brown plaid skirt and tights and tugging a warm sweater over her head.

She followed her nose into the kitchen and tiptoed over to Erik standing at the stove in black trousers and a maroon dress shirt, his black leather shoes shined to a mirror gloss. He had slowly regained the weight he'd lost during his illness and now he was no longer dangerously thin, but she suspected that he would never have much flesh on his bones.

Coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his middle and laid her cheek against his back.

He knew she was there when she first entered the kitchen. He _always_ did.

"Mmm...how did you know I wanted French toast this morning?"

He deftly flipped the toast and turning around, he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Because every three days you request it."

"That's because I _love_ your French toast."

She spun around quickly when the coffee maker spoke in a high, wispy, cartoonish voice that sounded suspiciously like Mickey Mouse. "_And _he makes an exceedingly fine cup of coffee too!" it said.

He flipped the toast onto a plate, ignoring Christine's look of bemusement and set the plate on the table. He held the chair out for her and she sat down, still eying him with suspicion. He looked back at her innocently. She poured syrup on her toast and started eating.

"Mickey Mouse, Erik?"

He maintained his air of innocence, but gave her a wink. "I may live five cellars below the ground, but it's not a vacuum, Christine."

He set a cup of coffee in front of her and sat down.

"Why aren't you having breakfast with me?"

"I have already eaten, ma petite."

"What?"

"Ah...toast," he said vaguely.

She looked at him doubtfully. "Your idea of breakfast and mine are entirely different. I _will_ fatten you up if it's the last thing I do, buster."

He rolled his eyes at that and said admiringly, "You truly are a delight to behold, my angel."

Christine blushed at his warm gaze and popped the last piece of French toast into her mouth. He watched her, seeing the dribble of syrup on her lower lip, and helpless to resist, he leaned over and licked it off. He caught her lip between his teeth and nibbled it gently as she brought her hands up to his face, kissing him soundly.

"Yum...you smell wonderful." she said against his lips. "Like cinnamon and ...pine." she drew back from him and looked him in the eye. "You've been snooping under the Christmas tree again, haven't you?"

He gave her a highly indignant look, yellow eyes flashing. "Erik does not _snoop."_

She put her arms around him and whispered in his ear. "Christine _knows_ that's not true, dear heart, but that's all right...she loves you anyway."

She took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked it gently, and Erik completely mollified, turned his head sharply and captured her lips with his own. He was the first to pull away.

Taking a deep breath he said regretfully, "We have much to do today and at this rate, we will not get any further than the bed."

She got up from her chair and plopped onto his lap, forcing a grunt from him. Looping her arms around his neck, she began by kissing his jaw, gradually working her way up to his mouth.

"And what's wrong with that?"

Before he could answer, she kissed him hard on the lips, her hand stroking his chest, then moving lower. His breathing quickened and he cupped the back of her head, completely forgetting his earlier plans. He lifted her in his arms and in long strides reached their room, where he laid her on the bed and stretched out beside her.

Their clothing ended up strewn on the floor, then gathering her in his embrace, he proceeded to love her thoroughly, nearly mindless with joy as their bodies once more became a single entity. Christine held him close as he shuddered against her, still trembling from her own pleasure.

She kissed the side of his neck and whispered, "Aren't you glad now that we didn't go rushing off?"

"Very, very glad." he said as he held her against his body...spent, but terribly happy.

He finally raised himself on one elbow and gently smoothed the tousled hair away from her face.

"I have someplace I want to take you, but first I must ask...will you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner and the Garnier tonight?"

She grabbed his hand, kissing each knuckle. "That sounds wonderful!"

"Then I suggest, woman, that we depart soon, n'est-ce pas?"

Within minutes, they were climbing the passage to the exit on the rue Scribe side of the lake, Erik holding her hand and pulling her along. When they stepped outside, it was to a cold, blue sky and a world of white. Fresh, glistening snow blanketed the ground.

Bundled up, they trudged the block or so to where his car was parked. It was another sleek, black BMW similar to the one he had leased in Gettysburg a lifetime ago.

They traveled in companionable silence across Paris, Erik expertly weaving in and out of the dense traffic of the congested city, until they arrived in a charming residential area of narrow streets and attractive older buildings, many built of stone.

He helped her out of the car and led her to the front of a distinctive and handsome townhouse.

"I designed and built this home, Christine. There is another similar to it at the end of this street."

She looked at him, then at the house in front of her. It was a tall, three-story home with beautiful arching windows, sided with mellow gray stonework. It was lovely.

"It's wonderful, Erik! I should have realized what you are capable of. Your home under the Garnier is so beautiful."

"I enjoy design and construction. Creating beauty is a worthy endeavor, no?"

She took his arm and nodded. "Was this the project you told me about?"

"Yes." He led her back to the car. "I wish now to do more of it on a steadier basis."

She smiled and gave him a quick hug. "I'm glad."

He was constantly surprising her.

They left le Marais and Erik headed for the Grand Boulevard and the many shops and boutiques to be found there. Despite Christine's protests, he gave her a credit card and insisted she buy herself a nice dress for their evening.

He opted to wait in the car and conduct some business over the phone with Bernard. After nearly an hour, she found what she was looking for and quickly paid the exorbitant price. She hurried back to the car and got in, excited about the evening to come.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

She dabbed perfume behind her ears and inside her wrists, surveyed herself in the mirror one last time, then left the room. It was Christmas Eve and the prospect of spending it with Erik had her more than a little excited. When she stepped into the living room, she stopped and stared.

He was leaning against the mantle, staring into the flames. When he heard her come into the room, he straightened and turned.

They surveyed each other, entranced by what they saw. He was dressed in a black tux, crisp white shirt and a black bow tie. She thought he looked magnificent...his tall, slender frame, graceful and elegant in the formal suit.

"You are handsome tonight, my love." she said, and meant it.

"I could wear the clothes of an emperor, Christine, but I would still be hideous."

"Not to me." she whispered.

Erik could only marvel that this beauty standing in front of him, was his and his alone. She was wearing a red crocheted dress, lovingly hugging all of her curves. Her blonde hair, which she was wearing longer now, was piled on top of her head, a few loose curls framing her face.

"Lovely..." his voice trailed off as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. He removed the object inside and placed the empty box on the mantle. He stood in front of her and took her left hand in his, running his thumb over the back.

"Marry me." he said, his eyes glowing a warm amber.

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears and nodded. "Yes...with all my heart."

He slipped the ring on her finger and she thought she'd never seen anything so beautiful. A platinum band held a sparkling diamond, with a triple set of smaller stones nestled to each side of the center diamond.

It was exquisite. She walked into his arms and held him close...so very happy. "It's beautiful, Erik."

"Tonight you have made me the happiest man on earth. And now, I have a surprise for you." He took her hand and led her to the music room, where he settled her in a chair.

His Christine had even decorated in here. Sprigs of mistletoe were scattered around the room and they'd stood beneath them all. His favorite was over the piano bench...they had taken advantage of that particular sprig many times.

He sat down at the grand and turned to her with a smile. "Joyeux Noel, my angel...my life."

He placed his hands on the keys and began. She held her breath at the introduction. She had told him once of holidays with her father and the Valerius'...how every Christmas Eve they had sung, O Holy Night...how much she missed it.

And now he was playing it for her.

His skill was such, that his hands flowed across the keyboard almost carelessly, so at ease was he, but the melody was precise and performed flawlessly. He leaned slightly forward, head tilted, eyes closed, breathing the music as he always did. A virtuoso performance. She didn't think anything could be more beautiful than his lovely rendition...until he began to sing.

My God, she thought. She closed her eyes and just listened. His incredible voice soared, aiming for the very Heavens, causing an ache to spread throughout her chest. Could one die from pure emotion, she wondered? Her face wet, she was humbled once again by his God-given talent...he was exceptional; a true musical genius, and she was one of only a handful aware of it.

Her maestro.

She got to her feet and joined him at the piano. She stood behind him and placed her hands lightly on his thin shoulders, feeling the smooth movement of the muscles beneath his jacket as he played. As the song came to its wondrous close, his astounding tenor remained in the echoes that were still present in the room.

Finally...she was able to speak past the lump in her throat.

"Thank you." she whispered, her voice breaking, as her hands squeezed his shoulders. "Mere words, Erik..." She paused, still overcome by the beauty of his gift. "How...how can I express what that meant to me...how very, very glorious it was, with just...words?"

He turned to her then and reached for her hand. "You just did." he said gently.

She smiled. "I think we just started a new Christmas tradition, don't you?"

"Only if you sing with me."

"I would be honored."

He kissed her knuckles, then stood up.

Tucking her arm in his, "Shall we, my dear?"

Their evening in Paris had begun.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

If someone had asked him what part of the night he had enjoyed the most, he would be hard put to choose.

They had dined on beef cooked over an open flame at Le Petite Chatelet in the Latin Quarter, and to celebrate their engagement, Erik had a bottle of the house's best champagne delivered to the table.

People had stared...of course they had, but perhaps they were admiring the beautiful woman on his arm and not the mask on his face.

He was happy...for once it didn't matter.

They had danced to the sweet strains of a violin, content as always to be in each other's arms. The Garnier that evening performed The Nutcracker and they watched from his usual box five. He observed Christine more than he did the performance...her enchantment with the story was endearing.

But perhaps the most wonderful part of the night, was when he took her to the opera house roof to view Paris spread out before them. It was a sight that he was sure she would never forget.

The late December sky was a deep navy blue, the heavens sprinkled with cold, glittering stars and the thousands of colorful lights of far-flung Paris, all vying for her attention.

Christine had leaned against him, his arms encircling her, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

"Look at the lights, Erik! It's gorgeous!" she said excitedly.

He tightened his grip on her. "Yes...truly gorgeous." he whispered, looking down at her.

He remembered coming here months ago, when he was sick and mourning the loss of Christine. And now he was holding that very woman in his arms, ready to embark on a new life.

They had returned home a little after midnight and enjoyed a nightcap while admiring their Christmas tree. Then they had moved into the bedroom and made love...slow and sweet. His eyes had slid shut realizing that music could _never _reach this pinnacle of pleasure for him.

Only Christine could.

Afterward, lying in her arms, he tried to name what it was he was feeling at that moment, for the emotion wasn't at all familiar to him. He had never felt it before, and yet his quick mind fumbled with the need to identify it.

Then it came to him.

It was nirvana.

Peace...at last.


	33. Epilogue

**This kind of got away from me...it developed a life of its own.**

**But everyone wanted to get their two cents in...everyone that is except Erik.**

** He stood in a dark corner and glared at me, but luckily no one else had any qualms talking about him, even his Christine.**** Thank you for reading. **

** And...curtain.**

_Four years later / Gettysburg_

Meg pulled into the driveway near dusk and got out of her car. It was a beautiful evening in early October, with the mild days of autumn gradually slipping away into the cold and ice of winter; the dying of the growing season, until new life returned in the form of tender green buds unfurling in the warmth of a spring sun.

She loved the fall. Orange and red leaves...crisp, sunny afternoons and cozy nights by the fire. She heard the humming of a lawn mower from behind the house, and walking over to the outside edge of the back porch, she peeked around the corner and did a doubletake. She let out a snort and ran lightly onto the porch and into the kitchen.

Christine stood at the table rolling out noodle dough. She looked up at Meg then straightened, putting both hands on her back and wincing a little.

"Meggie! Do these look right to you?"

Meg dropped into a chair and looked at the noodles drying on tea towels all over the kitchen. "My mom always dried them on wooden racks, but they look fine to me."

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "What's your Frenchman up to now?"

Christine giggled and wiped her hands on the towel riding over her large belly. "I know, I know." she said. He enjoys it, so who am I to say anything? He pretends he doesn't, but I know differently."

"Don't let the men of America hear you, Christine. Mowing the lawn is _not_ something they enjoy. And he's doing it in a friggin' suit! Hasn't he ever heard of workclothes? What _planet_ is Erik from anyway?"

Christine's blue eyes suddenly filled with tears. "He hasn't had a normal life like other men...he's _happy_ doing mundane things. That's _his_ idea of enjoyment. Cut him some slack, Meg. He tries so hard." She paused and swiped a hand across her face, then gave Meg a watery smile. "I'm s-sorry. I don't know why I did that."

Meg grinned and gave her a quick hug, brushing flour off her shirt. "_Oh_, I know why. All those hormones are kicking in at the same time. _I'm _the one who should be sorry...you know my sense of humor. He's great." And she meant it too.

Christine nodded knowingly. "Yeah, I do. You're right about the hormones though. I think that's why he was tiptoeing around me yesterday. I snapped at him over nothing, then started crying cause I did."

She went over to the kitchen door and watched with loving eyes as her husband mowed their lawn, his long legs eating up the distance. He looked oddly content in the gathering darkness, sleeves pushed to the elbows, his thin arms corded with sinewy muscle. She never tired of his graceful movements with even the smallest of tasks.

Meg eyed her friend and gave her an impish grin. "Heh. You must have one hell of a dry-cleaning bill with him! So what's next for Rikky, huh? Golfing with Philippe and the boys on Saturday?"

Christine rolled her eyes at Meg. "An occasional game of chess with Phil hardly qualifies for that. I have to practically push him out the door as it is, but it's another thing he won't admit he enjoys."

Meg and Erik had a friendship...of sorts, but after four years she was still cautious around him. He would only ever open himself up to one person...his Christine. Meg knew the Phantom wasn't gone...merely hibernating, for she had on occasion, seen him looking out of Erik's eyes.

She sometimes joked to his face...err, mask, but when he fixed that penetrating yellow-eyed stare on her, she backed off. At least they were able to carry on small conversations, either instigated by herself or Christine, but never by Erik. He had settled in happily to married life. Christine had told her a little of Erik's background. Meg surmised that this was the most content he'd ever been.

Meg unfortunately was most comfortable zinging Erik behind his back...all in good fun, of course. If she was completely honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she was slightly envious of her best friend. To have a man like Erik, whose eyes rarely left his wife, and who was putty in her small hands, would be nice...up to a point.

He was possessive with Christine, but fortunately, Chris felt the same way about him. Meg wanted someone less intense and more fun loving. Philippe had the right idea...he was dating a woman who loved nothing better than an afternoon of horseback riding, followed by an evening of dinner and dancing at the Hickory Bridge Inn. Anne Sorelli and Phil were getting pretty serious...could be he'd finally found the one he'd been looking for. Just like the man she was dating now; Ben Wilcox was a veterinarian from Chambersburg and the two of them had been having a good time for the past year.

Marriage? Maybe.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mama Valerius chasing a naked two year old into the kitchen. "Kire Charles Reauchard! Get back here young man and get some clothes on!"

Christine caught the laughing little boy up in her arms and gave him a kiss on one soft cheek. "Better listen to Granma, Kire... don't make her chase you."

Meg got up and took him from Christine. "Come on young 'un, let's get some pj's on you."

She ruffled his wispy black hair and grinned when she thought of all the angst it took to get him here. Erik adored his son, but once upon a time, he had refused the idea of a baby. He was afraid of a repeat of himself and had made it clear to Christine, there would be no little Reauchards running around the house. The battle royale was engaged and Mama had revealed to Meg that she could hear the two of them arguing in their rooms upstairs.

Christine had been making the loudest noise, but Mama had cringed hearing the low, furious tones of her husband. Erik when angry, was frightening. Three days later, after many tears, a tense Christine and a mournful Erik had reached a compromise. Test his genetic material and make sure it was normal.

Meg had joined Mama in the parlor a few weeks later. Christine and Erik had left for Paris and the house was quiet.

Meg had to know. "How are the lovebirds? Everything okay again?"

Mama looked up from her knitting. "Oh yes. Right as rain. Those two can't stay angry at each other for long."

"So who won the battle of the baby?"

Mama smiled and held up her pale yellow knitting. "This color will make a lovely baby sweater, don't you think?"

"He never stood a chance against her, did he?" Meg said sadly, but her eyes brimmed with laughter.

"Noo...he did not, the poor man." Mama concurred. "What's worse, I saw her packing that little scrap of black lace she calls a nightie. Mark my words...I'll be a grandmother before a year's gone."

And she was.

Things had been great until Christine had decided another little Reauchard was needed to complete her family. Erik once again dug in his heels.

Christine's pregnancy had been hard on her, and his only concern was for her health, which made him stubborn. The battle was engaged once more, only this time Meg had been a witness to the first salvo.

She had walked into the kitchen one afternoon and found the two of them nose to chest, Christine red in the face and Erik standing there tall and menacing, looking very much like a perpendicular storm cloud. He had been intimidating, no doubt about it, towering over his much smaller wife, but her friend had thought nothing of getting in his face, figuratively speaking.

Meg watched Erik, fascinated against her will by his eyes, which looked like they were shooting sparks. His beautiful voice for once was a cold hiss directed at Christine. It was so unlike how he usually spoke to her.

She couldn't look away. No, not even if her hair had been on fire.

She became alarmed when her friend started emphasizing her point by poking her husband in the chest. To Meg, it was like teasing a bear with a stick through the bars of a cage.

And _this _bear looked like he was ready to bite.

Erik stood his ground, head tilted down and hands tightly fisted in the black material of his pant legs. Finally, as if he was listening to some internal voice, he backed away from his wife and left the kitchen faster than Meg would have thought possible.

Christine had taken one look at Meg, surprised at her presence and started after him, but Meg's hand shot out and stopped her. "Uh uh. You need to let him cool down, friend and stop poking him with that stick."

Christine's eyes had immediately softened. "He would no more hurt me than he would Kire." she snorted. "But you're right, Meggie. No sense getting him too upset...he's only worried about my health."

To Meg, it was a repeat of life prior to Kire. A few days of tension and tears, and Erik had capitulated and said yes to another child. Only from what Meg could gather, there had been no horizontal loving going on in their large bed. Christine had intimated that Erik was withholding his _charms_ as a way of protest.

After a week of non-loving, she had pulled out her lace teddy from their wedding night and attempted to _tempt_ him. In true Phantom-style, he had slipped very reluctantly from the house and played chess with Philippe until he felt it safe to return home.

Meg was surprised at Christine's grin when she told her this.

"He seems bent on teaching _you_ a lesson, but he's a Frenchman...how much longer _can_ he hold out?"

Christine had only laughed with a twinkle in her eye. Erik held out for nearly another week, after days of tense silence and some _very_ heated looks between the married couple.

Meg shook her head, remembering, and pecked Kire's cheek. Mama came over to Christine and took the rolling pin off of her.

"Go sit on the swing for a while, Christine. You need to rest a little more often." She pointed a well meaning finger at her. Your husband will only get upset if you don't heed the doctor's advice."

Christine rolled her eyes at Mama, but complied.

Mama had had her reservations concerning Erik when she heard the news that they'd gotten married in Paris, but over the years she'd come to adore him. He was always reserved around her, but his fondness for Elizabeth came out in all the things he did for her. Whatever needed fixing around the house, he took care of himself.

The Victorian had been converted back into a single family dwelling, much to Mama Valerius' relief. Erik had done all the remodeling himself and now he and Christine had their own spacious apartment on the upper floors. She was of a mind that any man who could fix just about anything _and_ play beautiful music, whether on the piano or violin, was rare indeed.

And she couldn't help but be glad after all these years, to have a man in the house once again. In her mind, he had proven himself to be a real gentleman devoted to his family. She remembered when Christine went into labor with Kire on the last day of May two years ago. Leaning heavily on her husband, she started walking to the car, when he'd lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her out.

After a few harrowing hours and a nearly out of control Erik, their son had been born. Mama had finally persuaded him to return home with her after nearly an hour of argument. The labor had not been easy and a Caesarian had been performed. The doctor had elected to keep Christine another day, and Mama's patience with Erik for those three days had been severely tested.

He would spend the entire day at the hospital, causing a minor disruption there, then return home and literally walk miles through the house unable to do much else. She had awakened the second night of Christine's absence to find Lucy gone. After a few minutes of searching, she'd found her in the parlor curled up in Erik's lap. Erik and Lucy had a special bond; the two of them were often together, going on long walks and invariably he ended up carrying her home.

Apparently Lucy was sensing his need for some comfort.

"You need to get some sleep and you won't, sitting in that chair all night. You're going to be busy when Christine gets home with your son."

He looked blearily at her, then gave her a singularly sweet smile. "_My_ son, Elizabeth! Mine!" The look he gave her was a triumphant one, ruined by a jaw cracking yawn.

"We have not spent a night apart since she came to me in Paris. I _cannot_ sleep."

And he hadn't either until a tired, but radiant Christine had returned home with their baby.

Christine now removed the towel from her waist and went outside. Standing on the porch, she watched her husband as he finished up the mowing. They had married in Paris after a very short engagement. She felt bad when she told Mama that the wedding she'd planned for Christine would never take place, but neither she or Erik wanted to wait any longer.

She had never regretted it. They had honeymooned in the City of Lights and made love on the opera house roof under the stars. He was a gentle, passionate lover...together they had found completion in one another. They decided between the two of them, that they could successfully live in Gettysburg _and_ Paris, trading off every six months or so. And it was working. Mama occasionally accompanied them to Paris, but for the most part, she was happy with her life and friends in Gettysburg.

They'd bought a 150 year old townhouse that Erik had renovated for them, overlooking the Bois de Boulogne; regretfully, the house by the lake had been closed up...they had many fond memories of it and were both sad to leave it behind.

Christine saw Raoul every now and then. He had married and moved to Frederick, Maryland, managing one of their jewelry stores there. He would always be her dear friend and they still got together when he visited Philippe, but he would never be at ease around Erik. They would sit and talk while Philippe and Erik met over a chess board. A hesitant friendship had sprung up between the two men after the events of the masquerade.

It pleased Christine to watch her husband relax a little around others. What made her the happiest though was watching her husband and son together. She would never forget his reaction to the birth of his child. His eyes had been bright with unshed tears, and his deep love for the little boy was clearly evident the moment the newborn was placed in his arms.

It had been so much more than he'd ever expected to have in his life.

Christine had with Erik's permission, taken some of his compositions and met with the head of the music department at Gettysburg College. Professor Wingate was her former teacher and an old friend of her father's; he was very interested in Erik's music, classifying it as some of the most original and brilliant work he'd seen in a long time. He was now discussing the possibility of the masked man performing it, with the hope of compiling it all on a CD of piano and violin pieces. Christine was over the moon at the thought of Erik finally getting recognition for his incredible talent.

With his small architectural firm, the little family did very well. His popularity as an architect was steadily growing, his designs finding more and more favor with people wanting a fresh approach and engaging floor plan. Meetings with clients would always be awkward for Erik, but his building designs were innovative and people eventually accepted his sinister appearance simply on the merits of his work, but only after a few tense meetings.

The community was accustomed now to seeing him around town, but there would always be those unwilling to view him as anything more than a threat and an oddity.

Christine and Meg rented a building on York St., and for six months out of the year, the Gettysburg Musical Theatre for Children presented to the public, plays and musicals adapted to the talents of kids. It had become very popular in Gettysburg, and maintained its excellence with the help of a former opera ghost, who conducted the child sized orchestra. The theatre had nearly folded before it had begun. A number of parents had pulled their children from the program when they'd met the musical director. Christine had become livid at their bias of her husband, but when the few kids who remained, improved dramatically in their musical abilities, thanks to Erik, the ranks of children swelled until they were turning them away. The children at the center of the controversy accepted him much quicker than the adults did, and with Erik's no nonsense approach to music, they were well on their way to becoming a viable group of young musicians.

She was sitting on the swing when he stepped as silently as ever onto the porch and sat down beside her.

"Enjoy yourself, my love?" She smiled at him.

He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. "Enjoy myself? It has to be done, Christine, or it will swallow our son and Lucy from view someday."

She laughed and rested her hand on his thigh. "Oh really? What happened to the boy we hired to keep it cut?"

Erik shrugged and put his arm around his wife. "Busy, I suppose." He leaned down and kissed her temple.

They had only grown closer over the years. Christine liked to think that there was a nearly unbreakable thread linking them together. They had gone through hell four years ago and come back stronger. She smiled to herself...in another four, they would be completing each other's sentences.

She put her hand on the cheek of his mask. "Let's go upstairs." she whispered. "You can take this off and relax."

His yellow eyes took on that glow that she loved so much. "Mmm, yes." he hissed softly.

When they were in their own apartment upstairs, he would remove the mask and leave it off. Kire was used to his father's face, but again, it had taken some convincing to get Erik to do it in the first place.

"Ek!"

He heard his son yelling as the screen door was pushed open and the little boy came out, making a beeline to his father. Erik bent over, scooping him up and sitting him on his lap.

Christine looked at her son and shook her head. "Uh uh...Dad, Kire. Or...Pere. You don't call your father by his given name. Say Dad, okay?"

Her son had been watching her closely, then turned to his father and pointed one small finger at him. "Ek."

Erik looked at his wife and grinned. "You have confused him, ma belle. You gave him two different appellations...after all, everyone else calls me Ek...why shouldn't he?"

"You're incorrigible, Mr. Reauchard."

He tsked. "Careful, or your son will call me _that_ next."

Christine gazed on father and son, noting the similarities. Same black hair, pale skin and long-fingered hands. Kire was sure to be as tall as his father someday. When she looked at her son, she could clearly see what her husband's face _should_ have been, for Kire didn't resemble anyone from her side that she could tell.

The nose she wasn't so sure about...

Kire's red and wrinkled face at birth, put her husband in a state of awe, hardly believing that he could have sired the boy. His fear that their child would inherit his deformity had been unfounded. They had arrived home from the hospital with their newborn son, enjoying an early celebratory dinner Mama had made for them.

The little family had gone upstairs early, and putting a sleeping Kire in his bassinet, the exhausted parents had retired to bed themselves, a relieved and very tired Erik gathering his wife close and shutting his eyes.

At one a.m., always a light sleeper, he had leapt out of bed at his son's first cry.

Christine, drowsy and still recovering from her surgery, watched her husband carefully pick up their child and cradle him close, humming softly to him. Erik had figured out the mechanics of his first diaper change and then brought the baby to his mother for a feeding. He got into bed and lay back, watching his wife and son together, enthralled by the two most important people in the world to him, still not quite believing they were his.

"Look at him, Erik! He's beautiful."

"Yes."

He continued to watch them, then he reached out and stroked his wife's hair. "Thank you." he said quietly.

She turned and smiled tiredly. "For what?"

He nodded his head at their sleeping child. "For my son..." he paused, nearly overcome with love. "For...everything."

She curled her hand in his shirt, pulling him close for a kiss. "I adore you." she whispered.

She watched her son nurse, his tiny hand curled around her finger, then after a few minutes, she turned to say something to her husband and found him fast asleep. She realized that in the excitement of caring for the baby, he'd forgotten to put on his mask...and that was exactly how she wanted it. She refused to let him hide his face from his own flesh and blood. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, and bracketed on both sides by her men, she'd closed her eyes and joined them.

She was brought back to the present, when Kire looked up at his father with wide eyes as Erik talked to the little boy.

"You will make an excellent older sibling, Kire for your sister, n'est-ce pas?"

Christine smiled to herself...Erik's wishful thinking...he wanted a daughter.

The baby gave him a wide, wet grin, showing his new teeth and began picking at his father's wrist watch, tapping it with one small finger.

"Mine." he said, as he looked up with solemn eyes at Erik.

Christine laughed. Oh yes...like father, like son.

Erik held Kire with one arm around him and spread his other hand over Christine's expanding middle. She put her hand over his.

"Are you sure you want to be surprised by the sex of the baby? The doctor said he'd tell us if we want to know."

"Ah, but life is much more interesting with a little mystery, yes?"

"Yes." she whispered.

She heard Mama and Meg talking quietly in the kitchen. Christine hoped eventually to reunite Erik and Nadir. There was still bitterness on Erik's part; perhaps it would always be there. But he was a father now; it was much easier to understand Nadir's anguish at the time. He would do anything to keep his own son safe.

She kept in touch with Nadir a few times a year, and when she last spoke with him, Erik had questioned her about the Persian and his son- something he'd always refrained from in the past. She had relayed news of Reza to her husband, then sat there with him in a companionable silence. After a few minutes, Erik had leaned forward, forearms braced on his long thighs and cleared his throat.

"How _is_ the old goat?" he'd asked gruffly.

Christine had smiled.

She rather thought the wall was coming down...a few bricks at a time. She looked at her husband and son, her hand resting over the life growing inside of her.

The ghost light was all that Erik had said it was that long ago summer day...its light would never go out.

The End


End file.
